Attention
by Lowlands Girl
Summary: [Pre HBP] [WIP] Draco needs it, Ginny can give it... but Lucius requires it. [updated 3 Aug 07 to ch 20]
1. In the Library

**Author Notes**: I would like to thank my many betas--Horst, Jess, Alex, and QuickQuotesQuill--for putting up with me. I would also like to ask my readers to be patient as I discover this story's unfolding. Please leave a review after you've read, just so I know who's been reading it and what they think of it. Reviews make for good karma; and who knows, if you leave a review for something of mine, when I'm looking for a story to read, I might just go and look at something written by someone who left me a nice, intelligent, helpful review. winkwink nudgenudge Please?

**Chapter One**

No one ever remembered how it really happened.

Some said it was the stress of the war.

Some said it was Harry Potter's lack of love.

Others said it was Draco Malfoy being ornery.

The truth is that it started in the library, when Draco wanted to have a look in the same book she was using. He could, of course, simply steal it from her, but as she'd been a member of Potter's wretched D.A. last year, he was hesitant to do this. He had to admit that having his face covered with flying bogies once was two times too many.

But he desperately needed that book, and he wanted to look in it _now_, not later. Later he had other plans--Pansy had tickled his thigh under the dinner table, informing him in a most suggestive voice that, as Millicent had gone home for a 'family emergency', her dormitory was empty, and if he wanted to do things that made her make loud noises, now would be the perfect opportunity.

Of course he was going to take her up on it. Free snogging, free shagging--what Malfoy wouldn't?

But he needed that book _now,_ or he might never get a chance to look at it. The Defence class was doing Patronuses day after tomorrow, and Draco had been a bit... well, _enthusiastic_... about his capabilities to Potter and Weasley.

Saint Potter. Patronus Potter. With his silver stag that he'd had to show off to the entire school third year, and to the entire wizarding world summer before fifth year--it had taken nine months for the truth to surface, but once it did, everyone was in awe (again) of The Boy Who Could Fight Off Two Dementors All On His Own, The Poor Thing.

Ginny Weasley didn't look like she was going to give up the book at any moment, though, Draco realised, watching her head bent over a stack of notes.

There was another reason why he wanted the book, of course, and he'd never tell anyone about it: the Dementors were loose. He wanted to keep his soul as much as any other wizard, thank you very much, and he certainly didn't trust the Dark Lord to keep all the Dementors in hand. He'd've been dead in a heartbeat if he ever mentioned that to his father, but it was true. The Dark Lord didn't care how many people he killed off as long as he got to Potter eventually.

There were rumours of an attack on Hogwarts.

And Draco wanted his soul to stay right where it was.

He had no choice. He stepped out from behind the bookshelves and sauntered up to Ginny.

'I didn't know you could read, Weasley,' he drawled, putting his left hand next to the book on the narrow table and curling the other hand around his wand--he'd been studying the counter-jinx for the Bat-Bogey Hex over the summer.

By the way her quill paused, Ginny had heard Draco's voice, but she didn't look up.

After she'd written to the end of a line, she asked in a calm, quiet voice, 'Yes, Malfoy?'

Irritated, Draco said, 'I'm surprised your mother was even able to teach you, Weasley, since she's such a dumb person herself.'

Ginny gave no indication of having heard him, and kept reading, her quill tapping idly on her notes.

Draco hated the way she ignored him. He'd hated it ever since her arrival at Hogwarts. Ginny Weasley, the only female Weasley for several generations, with her long red hair and solemn brown eyes, and her observant gaze that took a body's soul in, swallowed it whole, and transferred its impressions to that wretched diary of hers. He'd been almost... not sorry, but... _something_ when she'd disappeared into the Chamber of Secrets and had, for the first time in his life, been a little annoyed with his father's judgment.

She'd turned her gaze on Potter first, and then to some Hufflepuff boy who apparently took up with Cho Chang, then Dean Thomas, that wretched Muggleborn Gryffindor, and then a succession of goggle-eyed Ravenclaws who walked around with wand protectors in their front pockets. The whole school was wondering if she'd make a play for Potter now that... what was his name? Julian Hainsworth, right... now that Hainsworth had dumped her. But Potter wasn't paying any attention to her. Her gaze was wasted on them. They didn't appreciate it.

Draco took his left hand off the table and placed it on top of her book. She stopped writing, but didn't look up.

'Yes, Malfoy?' she asked, in an infuriatingly polite voice.

'Are you almost done with that book?' Damn. That had come out almost civil.

Not looking up, she asked, 'Why? Do you need it?'

'Of course I do, Weasley, or I wouldn't be bothering to talk to you,' he sneered.

'Then you'll have to wait,' she said primly. When Draco didn't say anything, she looked up. Finally. 'What, Malfoy? Why do you want it so desperately?' Her eyes held irritation even if her voice was civil.

Draco did consider, for a moment, telling this chit that the Dark Lord was planning on sending Dementors to Hogwarts to get Potter, but decided, on balance, not to.

'Because I want it, dungbrains.'

Ginny let out a snort and turned her attention back to the book. 'You can't have eveything you want, Malfoy.'

For some reason, that struck hard.

Draco slammed both hands down on the desk, sending Ginny's quills and ink flying, spattering her robes, her face, and her hair with droplets of black.

Ginny recoiled, but only for an instant. In the next second, she was standing up, face to face with him, and her wand was at Malfoy's throat.

'I am a Malfoy,' hissed Draco, aware of the threateningly small space between her wand and his skin. 'I can have whatever I bloody well want.'

Ginny's voice was calm and low. 'Unless you want your face covered with bogies again, Malfoy, you'd better back off.'

Her eyes were bright, intense, and staring straight into his own. He watched the curve of her mouth, the set of her jaw, as she held him at wandtip. The entire stance of her body begged for him to take it one step further so she could hex him.

'I said, back off, Malfoy,' she repeated, her voice becoming growly.

Draco watched her lips form the words, saw the teeth behind them, and felt a jolt of possessiveness shoot through him.

He had her attention. It had taken five years, but he'd gotten it, finally. Every particle of her being was focused on him, every speck of emotion she had, every bit of fire in those eyes was on _him_, Draco Malfoy.

Blood rushed to his head; he felt dizzy and exalted and insane. He did the only thing he could think of.

Draco leaned forward--it was only a few inches--and pressed his lips against Ginny's.


	2. Out of the Library

**Author Notes**: Please leave a review.

**Chapter Two**

Ginny's lips were hard and cold under his own, completely unresponsive. If Draco had hoped that she'd melt into his arms, that her lips would mould to his and reveal her true affections, he was sorely disappointed.

_SMACK!_

His cheek now hurt, badly. He hoped desperately that it wouldn't leave a mark, because his healing spells were abysmal and going to Madam Pomfrey would be exceptionally embarrassing.

'How dare you?' Ginny Weasley had just spat at him, her voice at full volume.

Her wand was back at his throat, and Draco found the images of great flying bogies hovering at the edges of his memory.

'How dare you?' she repeated, jabbing the wand further into his throat for emphasis. 'How dare you even _touch_ me, Malfoy, you piece of filth!'

Draco stood there, reeling from more than just the slap.

He'd never had anyone focused on him so thoroughly. Never. His father always was elsewhere, mentally as well as physically, and his mother, much as she doted, was not the warm type. He could easily throw a potato at her during supper, and she would just wipe it off her face and tell him calmly, 'Malfoys don't throw food, Draco.'

Now he had a less-than-five-foot bundle of energy and fire in front of him, raging at him, angry at him for something he'd done. She had absolutely no awareness of the rest of the library. Her entire world was him at that moment. That sensation burned more than the slap.

'You have the gall to interrupt me rudely, taunt me, and then... and then...' She took a noisy breath.

'And... what?' he asked quietly. He couldn't keep the sneer from his voice--not that he wanted to. As much as his hormones triumphed with kissing her, his pride celebrated having fully unnerved her.

She was saved from answering by the appearance of Madam Pince, who came shuffling around the corner of the shelves as fast as her dusty carpet slippers would allow. 'What do you think you are doing?' the librarian hissed. 'I'll not have lovers' quarrels in here. Out!'

'But Madam Pince,' began Ginny, 'it's all his fault, he--'

'Out!' the librarian repeated, waving her wand in the air for emphasis. 'I heard a woman's voice, young lady, not a gentleman's, and unless your young friend here is a castrato--'

Draco shuddered as his hands twitched towards his bits.

'--then it was you shouting, and I'll not have it! Out!'

Madam Pince proclaimed all of this in a vehement whisper that, despite its lack of volume, caused every student within a twenty foot radius to lean back in their chairs and make owl eyes around the bookshelves to see who was being lectured.

Draco sneered at a few of them, and they dropped their eyes.

Ginny flashed Draco an incredibly angry glare, slammed the book shut, gathered up her supplies noisily, and stomped out of the library.

'You, too,' hissed Madam Pince, blinking up at Draco over the tops of her glasses. It didn't seem to matter that he was already half a foot taller than she--he felt suddenly small and cowed.

The book lay closed on the table, tempting him to pick it up, but he didn't dare move anywhere other than towards the doors. With a mumbled, 'Yes, ma'am,' Draco left.

Outside the doors he paused, and saw that at the other end of the corridor, Ginny had run into two of her Gryffindor friends. To his surprise, she didn't immediately begin ranting and raving with wild gesticulations. The two other girls simply greeted her; Ginny fell into step with them, and the three of them disappeared around the corner.

Making his way down towards the dungeons and the Slytherin common room, Draco wondered why she had done that. All she had to do was tell her friends that he'd made a move on her, and it would be all over school by breakfast, never mind the curfew. And heaven forbid that the Gryffindors found out: Potter would hex him, Weasley would gibber and rage and drop things, and Granger would say something that she evidently thought was acerbic and witty.

Potter barely needed an excuse these days to pick a fight with Draco--Draco's very existence annoyed him. Draco could possibly put it down to his own resemblance to his father, but he had to admit that he'd never been very amicable to Potter. Why would he, after the other boy had rebuked his offer of friendship? All Draco had wanted to do was show Potter around the world, show him true class, especially for one raised by Muggles; and yet he had proven very early on that he was steadfastly Gryffindor: stupidly loyal in a way that others called bravery.

And as Draco wanted to stay in England, he hoped sincerely that Ginny wouldn't tell Potter.

Draco allowed himself an annoyed sigh. Well, he'd find out in the morning whether or not she'd told. But if she hadn't told her two friends--and he thought they might be her closest friends, as he could recall seeing the three of them together nearly everywhere--then she might not tell Potter.

Weasley--now, there was another issue completely. Weasley was unpredictable. He wasn't violent the way Potter was (Draco would never forget the fist in his face during fifth-year Quidditch), but he had a flaming temper and was the type to explode without warning. Draco could only hope that Ginny's independence from her brothers was enough to keep her from running.

Then he snorted. Of course she was independent of her brother. No arm-dangling Daddy's girl would ever be able to put so much energy into a single slap.

Draco gingerly touched his cheek and winced. At the next bathroom, he graced the mirrors with his reflection. There was the shadow of a handprint stretching from his jawbone to his cheekbone. Damn. How could such a small creature leave so vivid a mark?

He pulled out his wand reluctantly and aimed carefully at his cheekbone. Then he paused. He brought his wand down, thinking.

Did he really want to get rid of it? He could see one major advantage to still having the handprint: if Ginny went and told her guard-dogs, it would serve as proof that Draco had, in some way, already been punished. He vaguely imagined (hoped) that the pink stain might repulse further indignations.

On the other hand, if Ginny didn't tell them, then he'd be walking around the school with the proof of a girl's rejection marked on his face as plainly as--well, as plainly as a handprint. People would talk, would wonder who he had approached, who he had irritated enough to merit a slap. His status might fall because of speculation: if at least one girl found him undesirable, then mightn't others?

Pansy would wonder, too--she'd know that he'd done something to deserve it. Immediately his mind was filled with her shrill voice: _Who gave you that handprint, Draco? Who was it, I want to know. Draco, tell me, where did you get that mark?_ He'd have to be rude to her to get her to back off, and then she might suddenly get a headache.

The sex was pretty good, but only if she kept her mouth shut. He brought his wandtip again to his cheek.

Then he thought of another reason: the handprint was a mark of Ginny's. She would undoubtedly search his face the next morning for traces of it, and when she found it, her eyes would be drawn to it all day. She'd watch him, she'd wonder why he hadn't yet healed it himself.

But then she might speculate that his healing abilities were substandard. They were, but she didn't have to know that. She'd see him as incompetent, and he couldn't have that.

But she'd see the handprint if she searched; and he knew she would search. She was always watching people, noticing them, cataloguing them in a mental file for future reference. He'd seen her do it before, to Potter, to her brothers, to the teachers. This would become just another line in his file: 'Did not remove handprint. Reason unknown.'

And it wasn't _that_ obvious, Draco reflected, staring at it in the mirror. He tilted his head sideways, then turned to examine his profile out of the corner of his eye. No, he'd keep it, he decided. He'd keep it for a day, and see what happened.


	3. Breakfast

**Author Notes**: Please leave a review.

**Chapter Three**

Draco awoke in his own bed, alone and annoyed. As he'd expected, at the sight of the handprint Pansy had suddenly become afflicted with a mysterious headache and sent him packing back to his own dormitory. Bugger.

What was worse, he'd fallen asleep on the bruise, was now delightfully throbbing. He swung his feet over the side of the bed and dropped gracefully to the floor, then walked over to the mirror above his bureau, lit his wand, and scowled critically at his illuminated reflection.

'Up already?' grunted Vince.

'Go back to sleep,' said Draco. 'It's only seven.'

'Mm... 'kay,' Vince muttered, snorted, then began snoring in a delicate crescendo.

After a minute of turning his head this way and that, angling his wand to test different lighting effects, Draco decided the handprint wasn't too obvious from a distance. Pansy had only seen it because she'd been so close.

Draco dressed carefully as always, poked Vince and Greg awake, made sure they'd lumbered off to the toilets armed with toothbrushes, shampoo, towels, and wands, then headed out through the common room to the Great Hall for breakfast.

He wasn't surprised to see Ginny Weasley already there, but he was surprised to see her unguarded. No Potter, older brother, or best friends flanked her protectively. Rather, she was sitting alone, reading the newspaper while her spoon stirred her porridge. One hand lay absently on her lips; the other held the paper.

The way she had her fingers to her lips was... enticing. He rather thought that she was remembering the previous evening. Rather hoped she was, in fact.

He sat down quietly, carefully placing his bag on the floor so it wouldn't make any noise, and poured himself some coffee. The hall was empty of everyone but the two of them and some fifth-year Ravenclaws who were talking quietly over an Arithmancy book, so Draco took the opportunity of being unobserved to watch her openly.

As she was facing the door, and thus the wall along which the Slytherin table ran, he could see her expression over the newspaper. He didn't think she was actually reading it; besides, the post owls hadn't arrived yet, so it had to be yesterday's edition. The front page had a picture of a square-jawed witch with a monocle, that new Minister Bones, he recognised, and the woman was leaning forward and speaking forcefully. He vaguely recalled an article about goblin relations and the Beast, Being, and Spirit Division of the Ministry. Dull stuff.

Ginny's eyes, though fixed on the article inside the paper, were not moving. Her fingers, however, were rubbing along her lips. Touching what Draco had touched, rubbing over a rough patch on her upper lip that he recalled being chapped, the lips moving ever so slowly as if kissing her finger.

He watched the fingers swiping back and forth, back and forth, very slowly, sensually, until his entire attention was focused on those fingers and the lips and the patches of freckled skin he could see around it. It was so slow, the circle she made--lower lip, upper lip, skipping back down the lower lip halfway along the upper.

Draco put his cup down with a loud thunk.

Ginny looked up, met his eyes, and, after a single moment of startled recognition, glared. Then she sneered at him and deliberately turned a page of her newspaper, shaking it rather more noisily than was necessary, which earned her a glare from the Ravenclaws. She grabbed the spoon, which had kept its steady path around the bowl all this time, and proceeded to eat her porridge at Draco.

He scowled back at her, but she was now pointedly reading the newspaper, so he proceeded to serve himself some breakfast with excrutiating deliberateness.

About twenty minutes later, after Draco had filled up on eggs and kippers, the post arrived with a package of sweets from his mother and a forwarded letter from his father. Draco saw the heavy vellum and sighed. He didn't want to read it, he really didn't. It would just be more banality, more 'Draco--my son--my heir--the Dark Lord--blah, blah blah.'

Draco put the letter in his bag for later and opened the sweets package. Sugar Quills, nougat, Ice Mice, and some chocolate. He smiled fondly. His mother might have most of her attention on things other than her son, but the superficial gesture of sending sweets was still nice, especially because she hated Ice Mice and sent them anyway. The package followed his letter into the bag; he didn't want Greg or Vince finding the sweets and stealing them.

The rest of the school filtered down gradually, yawning, grumbling, chattering, and complaining about classes. Draco felt a slight jolt whenever anyone mentioned Defence Against the Dark Arts--he still had to use that Dementor book. He'd do it tonight; Defence was tomorrow morning, so there should be enough time, he decided.

Pansy flitted into her seat next to Draco and began gabbling at him, last night's debacle apparently forgiven, if not completely forgotten. He rather fancied that she had a hole in her head out through which his faults regularly fell.

'So I heard a rumour that Filch caught Padma Patil and Justin Finch-Fletchley--you know--_doing it_,' she began, and Draco tuned out.

Potter, Weasley, and Granger had just walked into the hall. Draco watched as they walked past the Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff tables and settled themselves around Ginny.

When Potter sat down, Draco saw Ginny's eyes flicker over to him. There was a quarter-second when her eyes were not yet up to the level of his, and during that moment he could see her cataloguing the handprint, just as he knew she would. Her eyes narrowed just slightly, and her expression became calculating. Then their eyes met, and this time it was Draco who looked away, because Potter was sitting next to her, and he didn't want to deal with Potter, who was far too eager to leap to the defence of his hangers-on.

'...and it was just horrid, Draco, I mean, can you imagine it? Pink! And mauve! On the same set of robes...'

'Horrid,' Draco murmured. 'I can't possibly imagine.'

Pansy took a breath to continue ranting on about the latest issue of _Modern Witch_, but Draco spoke before she could.

'I need to go.' His eyes strayed very briefly to Ginny's lips, which were moving in conversation to one of her friends. 'I'll meet you at lunch.'

He kissed Pansy dutifully on the cheek, took an apple from a basket on the table, swung his bag over his shoulder, and got gracefully to his feet. 'See you,' he said, and before Pansy could whine that he never paid enough attention to her, he walked away.


	4. In History of Magic

**Author Notes**: Please leave a review.

**Chapter Four**

There were some Malfoy traditions that Draco could do without. Taunting the Weasleys, hating Muggles and Mudbloods, beheading house-elves--they were all fine with him.

But whatever centuries-dead Malfoy had started the tradition of taking the History of Magic N.E.W.T. needed to have their head removed and Scourgified.

There were five students in the class: himself, Hermione Granger, Padma Patil, Ernie Macmillan, and Susan Bones. No one else would take it, even if they had bothered to pass their History O.W.L.. Granger was taking it out of some ridiculous need to prove her worth, Padma because it was something she could ace without any difficulty--she would have been the top student in the school if it hadn't been for Mudblood Granger--and Macmillan and Bones both because they wanted to go into the Ministry and thus were required to have a N.E.W.T. in History.

And he had to take it because it was family tradition. What fun. For the millionth time that year, Draco thought wistfully of taking Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid, which would not only have been interesting--maybe a bit _too_ interesting--but would have had the added advantage of a once-a-week opportunity to get Potter all worked up over that half-breed oaf.

Professor Binns drifted through the blackboard, shuffled his notes absently, and began to drone in a monotonous wheeze.

'Last week we covered the Muggle Scare of 1919; today we will talk about the clauses added to the Statute of Secrecy...'

_We?_ thought Draco with half a snore. _Funny, the only person I hear talking is you._

He tuned Binns out, trusting Ernie to be willing to 'study' with him later--Hufflepuffs were so gullible--and fished around in his bag for his father's letter.

Draco hated the icy feeling of the parchment, the way it seemed to crackle with energy under his fingers. It was an inevitable after-effect of the Concealment Charm that enabled it to pass through the Hogwarts barriers against mail from Azkaban, but Draco still always felt slightly oily afterwards.

Dear Son, Life comes and goes; the wheels of time turn in ever-whirling circles, bringing us along their inevitable paths. Roads fork and diverge in front of us, testing us, tempting us, questioning our intent and our loyalty. The heavens spin above us, the stars foretelling events and warning us of the future. Sometimes it happens that all paths converge on a clearing, on a marker, on a milestone; that all events lead up to one; that all the constellations and planets join in celestial harmony; and in that one moment the choices become clear, the truth is known and thou art free from questioning. My son, mine only son and heir, the light of my life, mine image, my very duplicate, thou hast never failed me, and it is my devout wish that thou shouldst continue after I finish. Our Lord is a powerful man, a very powerful being, and it is to him that thou dost owe thy loyalty and unfailing devotion. Thou art my hope, Son. _Lucius_

Draco made a noise of disgust under his breath, crumpled up the heavy parchment, and stuffed it back into his bag. The letters were always the same, cryptic ramblings about time passing, about paths and questions and loyalties, about how powerful the Dark Lord was, about Draco's role as Lucius' heir. None of it ever made any sense. Really, if Lucius had wanted Draco to be a Death Eater, Draco would have been better trained for it.

Draco understood that Purebloods had a reputation to keep, and most assuredly he couldn't stand Muggles in their filth, or Mudbloods in their arrogance and ignorance--why didn't they just keep to themselves? Why couldn't there be a separate school for them? They simply didn't fit in, never having been brought up to know the culture.

But being a Death Eater meant something totally different. It was a political statement, and Arthur Weasley would be Minister for Magic before Draco Malfoy involved himself with politics. There were so many wonderful things to explore! Quidditch, girls, spending money, Quidditch, girls...

Binns' voice drifted into his thoughts, unwelcome: '... and in 1923, Minister Oakley was forced to step down because of his lenient policies toward Muggle sympathisers. The Knights of Walpurgis, a growing force in the Ministry...'

Draco tried to concentrate on the class, he really did. His eyes drifted over to Granger. She was watching Binns intently, quill paused in hand, tongue caught between her teeth. He frowned slightly; when had her teeth shrunk? She'd certainly filled out nicely for a Mudblood, though he'd never lay a finger on her. Purebloods were always better in bed: Slytherin girls knew exactly what they wanted, none of this stupid giggling uncertainty that every other House seemed plagued with.

Draco's hand drifted up to feel his cheek and he winced slightly. The skin was still tender--he rather fancied it might be turning purple. He was beginning to second-guess his decision to leave it. The effect wasn't worth the pain. Yes, he'd remove it before Ancient Runes.

Someone jabbed him in the ribs. Draco turned to see Padma Patil eyeing him speculatively.

'Who did that?' she whispered, her head indicating the handprint.

Draco decided to play dumb. 'Did what?'

'Was it Pansy? Did she finally snub you?'

'Pansy? _Snub me?_ You must be joking. No, it wasn't her.'

Too late, the gleam in Padma's eyes told him that he'd said too much. _Brilliant, Draco, just brilliant._ He resisted the urge to bang his head on the desk, thereby publicly announcing his mortification.

Instead, Draco looked coldly down his nose at Padma, daring her to comment.

Padma simply gave him a rather superior smile before turning back to her parchment.

Great. She'd tell her sister, Parvati, who would tell Lavender Brown, who would then tell everyone within the surrounding five miles that someone had snubbed Draco Malfoy.

Well, he'd deal with Pansy when--no, _if_--she brought it up. An airhead, if a pretty spectacular shag compared with some of the others. Draco idly wondered if the quality of a girl's performance in bed had anything to do with her intelligence. Maybe it was a kind of inverse proportionality. After all, Granger certainly didn't look like she'd be any fun.

Class took far too long to finish; Draco's attention was momentarily caught by Binns saying, 'In 1924 the Knights of Walpurgis, who were later to become the Death Eaters under He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, gained a victory in the Wizengamot with the appointment of Grindelwald--' but then the lecture went on to duller bits of laws and clauses and section numbers.

Draco yawned and doodled on his own parchment, staring out the window at the invitingly sunny sky.

Several minutes later, he discovered to his immense horror that his quill had suddenly written 'Ginny' in the margins of his (non-existent) notes. He scratched it out before anyone could see.

Blissfully, at that exact moment the class ended, and Draco scuttled off to the toilets to perform a quick De-Bruising Charm, or, failing that, see if his Perfect Skin Spell would cover the handprint as well as that offending spot on his left nostril.


	5. Lunchtime with the Slytherins

**Author Notes**: Please leave a review.

**Chapter Five**

The fallout came at lunch. Although the De-Bruising Charm had worked on the third try, the Patil-post had worked perfectly from the first.

'Draco, love...'

Dignity was such an inconvenience, Draco decided, fighting the urge to crawl under the table.

'...has someone been bothering you? Has another girl been trying to get at my precious Draky-dum?'

Oh, dear. Pansy had to be furious to be calling him 'Draky-dum'.

'Who was it, darling? You can tell me; I'll get her...'

Draco finally looked up and around at Pansy, who was standing behind him as he sat at the lunch table. While part of his mind was occupied with the knowledge that his shepherd's pie was going cold, he stared into her close-set eyes and thought frantically.

'Never mind that, sweetheart,' he said quickly, 'it's nothing.' He pulled on her sleeve; to avoid letting her robes rip, she had to sit down, which she did, gracelessly. 'Want some of my pie?' He grabbed a fork from a nearby setting and offered it to her.

She didn't take it, but stared at him stonily, all the pretence of affection gone from her face.

'Look, darling,' Draco said cajolingly, 'it was just some random younger student--I don't even know her name--she tried to come onto me, I refused, and she slapped me.' He shrugged. 'Simple as that. It's over and done with. There's no need for you to worry about it,' he added comfortingly, and smiled winningly. He tried once more to put the fork into her hand.

Again she ignored it, still staring at him. What else did she want him to say?

With a fierce pang, his stomach reminded him of its needs. Tentatively, his eyes flicking between his plate and Pansy, Draco forked in another mouthful of beef and potato. When this action didn't provoke an outburst from his girlfriend, he continued to eat as quickly as he could without scarfing.

Pansy sat and watched him eat, her head tilted to one side so that her ear rested on her hand, the elbow on the table. Her sleeve had fallen away to reveal a soft, scrawny arm. The diamond bracelet he'd given her last Christmas glinted in the March midday sun.

As Draco scraped his plate clean, Pansy finally spoke, much more softly and reasonably than he'd ever heard.

'Look,' she said, and he did.

He turned around, wiped his mouth, and looked into her face. There were lines of tension around her lips, and her eyes were bright. She spoke evenly with the confidence of privacy in a public place. He was surprised to hear that the slight twang her vowels usually had was gone; she was for once speaking properly.

'We were promised to each other at four. I've spent my entire life dreaming of the great Draco Malfoy who was to be my husband, my companion, my provider, everything to me. I've spent the last thirteen years planning our wedding, planning our house, wondering what our children will look like... I would fall asleep envisioning you--funny how you always looked like your father in my dreams, but cuter--envisioning you whirling me around a ballroom, smiling at me, treating me like a princess, giving me anything I want--'

Draco opened his mouth to say, sulkily, 'I do give you anything you want,' but Pansy interrupted before he could get past 'I do-'.

'Wait until I'm finished. I've been wanting to say this for a long time. I've been planning our life together for most of my life, Draco, and it simply isn't fair for you to go swanning off, having flings with other girls, treating me like an ignorant dog. It just isn't fair. Something's got to change.'

She was calm, emotionless. This was not the Pansy he knew.

'I know I act like an airhead, but it's just what girls do. We all do it--well, except Granger, but she--'

At Draco's nod, Pansy's slightly tired expression changed to one of deep suspicion.

'Was it her?' she gasped. 'Did--did she--did _that_--' Pansy could only gape at him.

'No, of course not!'

But Pansy's mouth stayed open in angry horror. Draco knew that she was putting one and one together in her own unique mathematical system.

'Pansy, I'm serious. I'd rather snog Weasley. I'd rather _shag Potter_ than kiss Granger.'

He heard a titter on the bench behind him--those damned Ravenclaws again.

Pansy was still eyeing him suspiciously. 'The problem is,' she said with a slight tremor, 'that I know you've lied to me before, and for all I know this is just another lie.'

'When have I lied to you before?' Draco tried to inject just the right amount of hurt and shock into his voice, but it didn't fool her.

She started ticking names off on her fingers, her voice wobbling.

'First, Millicent: I know she asked you to cure her curiosity about boys; she told me all about it and wondered why you hadn't told me. Second, Daphne: both of you were missing from your dormitories that one night, and the next day Daphne had a love-bite and looked very smug; also, you hadn't combed your hair. It doesn't take much to put two and two together, you know. Then Parvati Patil--I saw you kissing her, you're terrible at hiding places. I don't know if you actually shagged--'

They had, but Draco wasn't going to tell her.

'--but I don't give a damn. Oh, and back in January you were providing stud services to any sixth-year who asked. Do I really need to name names?'

Draco was in shock. He'd been so careful, he'd thought. He'd sworn the girls to secrecy, made them promise not to tell. After all, _he_ didn't kiss and tell. Didn't girls have morals? Didn't they have a code of honour?

_Apparently not,_ he thought angrily, wondering how on earth he was going to make up for this one.

'Anyway, it doesn't matter anymore,' said Pansy tiredly, gathering herself up from the bench.

'Don't you want lunch?'

She shook her head listlessly. 'Snog Granger, shag Potter, do whatever you like. I don't care anymore, I just don't care. I've had enough of being treated like an idiot, pushed aside, being your backup. We're through.'

There was a very long silence in Draco's head; then a horrible rushing noise filled his ears. He was vaguely aware of the whispers at the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables as the rumour mill eagerly slurped up the new drama.

His father would kill him.


	6. Lunchtime with the Gryffindors

**Author Notes**: Please leave a review.

**Chapter Six**

Ginny was impressed: not two minutes after Pansy had stalked out of the Great Hall, head held high, eyes dry, the explanation found its way over to the Gryffindor table via the Patil Pipeline.

'She's broken up with Malfoy.' Padma had raced over at a crouch.

'Broken--'

'Yes! Told him off and everything!'

The rest of the table took up the tale, not bothering to whisper.

'But they've been engaged since childhood, haven't they?'

'I hope his parents send him a Howler.'

'Do you think he'll try to get her back?'

'I wonder who he'll ask out next?'

'Did he really say he'd rather shag me?'

As Harry's shocked whisper made Ron guffaw and Hermione tut, Ginny's stomach lurched unpleasantly, and she tried to figure out why. Was it joy? Triumph? Fear? Maybe it was because Pansy had finally stood up for herself, and Ginny now had to think of her as human rather than part-Hag. Maybe it was because that bastion of pure-blood supremacy, the Malfoy family, had taken a blow, and Ginny was celebrating. Maybe it was because Draco Malfoy would now be able to flirt with girls in public, and _oh dear Merlin would he try it with her again?_

She shuddered ever so slightly.

'Malfoy hates you, mate, don't worry about it,' Ron said reassuringly, and served himself seconds.

Harry continued to look uncomfortable. 'It's just disturbing.' He took the platter listlessly and glopped his own seconds onto his plate.

'I don't think you have to worry about Malfoy making any advances on you, Harry,' said Hermione firmly. 'But really, it's about time.' She glared over at Malfoy. 'I know I don't like Pansy very much--'

'You hate her,' said Ron through a mouthful of beef.

'--but,' continued Hermione as if Ron hadn't spoken, 'no one deserves to be treated the way she was.'

Ginny nodded enthusiastically. 'Malfoy's pretty foul, yeah. Yesterday in the library--'

She broke off, suddenly unsure. She hadn't told Charlotte or Lisa (who were spending their lunch hour frantically finishing their Potions essays) about the incident in the library, mostly because they were terrible gossips and would probably assume that she'd enjoyed it, which she most certainly hadn't.

As no one had noticed her speaking--they never did, unless she could somehow help them get into trouble--Ginny simply fell silent, trying not to think.

She hadn't enjoyed the kiss, really. She had no doubt about that.

But it was weird. It had been so long since anyone had kissed her, much less like that, crushing her lips, trying to possess her. She'd really hated the way Malfoy had forced himself on her, and yet her body had gone all moist and tingly in certain spots and it had taken all her concentration to pull back and stop him.

But, she consoled herself, it was only her body reacting, this stupid podgy little body that never behaved, that always shook when she wanted to remain still, that never quite fit as well into her robes as the other girls her age. If only she'd gotten her father's tallness, rather than her mother's stockiness. If only her mother hadn't always stuffed them as children, if only...

Ginny looked over at Malfoy. She could no longer see the handprint. If he could remove it so easily, why hadn't he removed it last night? If he'd just got rid of it, then none of this would have happened; it wouldn't have been the last straw for Pansy's patience.

She spooned green beans onto her plate and forced her attention back to Hermione's rant.

'...and I confess that I didn't think she was aware of how many girls Malfoy had' --Hermione faltered, looking for a delicate term-- 'been with,' she finished, slightly pink.

'Shagged?' supplied Harry, raising an amused eyebrow at her.

'No, shagging is much friendlier,' said Ginny into her goblet of water.

All three heads whipped around to her. So they did listen.

'And how would you know?' asked Ron, swallowing hugely. 'You haven't--I mean--'

'Ho, ho,' Ginny replied, rolling her eyes and putting her goblet back down, 'poor Ron, worried about ickle Ginny's honour. I'm _fine_, thanks.'

Hermione seemed torn between laughter and shock--after all, Ginny hadn't denied anything. She raised her eyebrows questioningly at Ginny, who smirked ever so slightly. Hermione shook her head, clearly trying to smile conspiratorially and frown disapprovingly at the same time.

'Anyway,' Ginny continued, 'it's going to be quite a shock for the Malfoys, isn't it? Draco's the only heir, the Parkinsons have only the one daughter... the Malfoy-Parkinson merger was predicted to be the biggest event of this century--well, next.'

'Merger?' Hermione said, aghast. 'They were engaged, and you're talking about it as if it's business!'

'Well, it is,' said Ginny matter-of-factly. 'Two fortunes, two businesses. It's like that with these arranged pure-blood marriages. The Parkinsons run Silvertongue Publishing, everyone knows that, and the Malfoys own those forests in Scandinavia, along with tons of other things, but it's the paper that's the big deal. Having the two fortunes together in one family would mean a lot of influence.'

'Silvertongue Publishing?' repeated Hermione. 'You mean...' She gestured helplessly at her bag.

Ginny nodded, forking some beans into her mouth and chewing rapidly. 'Our schoolbooks, exactly.'

'But that's--that's just--'

Ginny took another bite, waiting for Hermione's rambling shock to erupt, as it inevitably would.

'How do we know they're not biased?' she finally choked out. 'It could be anything they're putting in--'

'We don't.'

'Hermione, forget it,' said Ron, when Hermione began to swell.

'But--but--' she stuttered, enraged.

'Just drop it, okay?'

Hermione huffed, then fell blissfully silent.

Ginny caught Harry's eye, and they grinned at each other. Hermione was so predictable.


	7. Defence Against the Dark Arts

**Author Notes**: Please leave a review.

**Chapter Seven**

Pansy could halt Draco's future with a few words, but nothing could prevent the dreaded Dementor lesson from finally arriving.

To Draco's surprise, Professor Holloway had turned out to be a perfectly competent Defence teacher. He had spent several decades travelling around the Continent as a professional duellist, and at Hallowe'en had managed to best both Flitwick _and_ Snape in an impromptu duelling tournament. In short, he was okay.

'As I mentioned Monday, we're starting Patronuses today,' Professor Holloway said Friday morning, letting them into a dank, dusty room down in the dungeons and lighting the torches with his wand.

The class filed in after him and formed a loose ragged group on the opposite side of the room from the door.

'I understand from Mr Potter that quite a few of you worked on the spell last year about this time, is that correct?'

There were murmurs, nods, and not a few glances over at Potter, who was slouched against a wall, looking bored.

'I expect all of you already know the incantation, but let's practise it together first, without wands,' he continued. 'It's _Expecto Patronum._ All together now... _Expecto Patronum!_'

The class diligently chanted the incantation; Draco mumbled along sullenly, wishing Holloway would get on with it.

'Excellent,' said Holloway automatically. 'And of course in addition to the incantation, you have to think of a happy memory or thought--this is the key. The happiness has to be powerful but also sustainable. Solid.'

What the bloody hell did that mean? But the rest of the class were nodding again, some with closed eyes or odd smiles.

'When a Dementor attacks, you will be assailed by terrible memories. You must let these memories must pass through you. Don't absorb them--much easier said than done. It takes incredible strength of character to keep hold of the memory while all your mind wants to do is succumb to despair, to a complete lack of hope.' He suddenly grinned. 'Who'd like to go first? Mr Potter? Perhaps a demonstration?'

Draco's nails dug into his palms as a hot wash of hatred flooded him. Perfect Potter. Perfect, precious, Patronus Potter.

Potter stepped away from the wall, giving every appearance of great reluctance. He pulled his wand from his robes, flicked it somewhat nonchalantly, and said boredly, _'Expecto Patronum.'_

A gigantic silver stag erupted from the end of his wand and cantered the length of the dungeon as everyone but Draco and Millicent, the only other Slytherin in the class, applauded and _ooh_ed.

'Well done, Mr Potter, very well done!' Holloway exclaimed enthusiastically as the stag faded away. 'Who's next?'

Just as Draco was about to step forward and prove that Potter wasn't anything special, Granger's hand shot into the air, catching Weasley on the ear. There was a muffled 'Oi!' and a quick 'Sorry, Ron.'

'Yes, Miss Granger, go ahead.'

The Mudblood stepped forward, took a deep breath while she presumably imagined all the house-elves accepting clothes and asking for wages, waved her wand and screeched, _'Expecto Patronum!'_

A silver otter appeared in front of her and began to roll around on the dungeon floor.

Draco caught his guffaw just before it passed his lips.

'Excellent,' said Holloway with a pleased smile. After a few seconds, the otter faded. 'Next?'

Millicent pushed herself away from the wall, walked wordlessly to the centre of the dungeon and pointed her wand at Granger. Draco snorted. He had a strong suspicion of what Millicent's happy thought was, and wondered if Know-It-All Granger knew that there was no taboo against lesbian extra-sanguine relations. Millicent had quite the sadistic streak, too; Draco still had the scars.

Millicent waved her wand wordlessly. A gigantic eagle streaked out of the end straight at the Mudblood, who shrieked and ducked, holding her hands over her head.

'It won't hurt you!' shouted Holloway with a laugh. 'Calm down, Miss Granger!'

Granger straightened up, flushing, as Millicent's eagle dissolved. Weasley and Potter both shot Millicent angry glares. Millicent, however, continued to gaze levelly at Granger who, after a moment, began shifting from foot to foot awkwardly.

'That was...impressive, Miss Bulstrode,' Holloway said unsmilingly. 'A silent Patronus is quite advanced. I commend you.'

Millicent turned and met Holloway's eyes. 'I've had practice,' she said steadily.

The class went very silent; Draco felt uncomfortable. Millicent had what could politely be called 'strong political leanings', and, ever since fourth year, had suddenly begun picking up countercurses with frightening ease. She'd returned from her family emergency only yesterday evening, pale and silent.

Millicent flipped her gaze around the dungeon, then returned to her slumping perch by the side wall.

Holloway cleared his throat. The class shuffled their feet, relieved.

'Another volunteer? Ah, thank you, Mr Malfoy.'

Apparently Draco's hand was in the air and his feet were carrying him to the middle of the dungeon.

'Have you ever conjured a Patronus before?'

'No,' Draco said carelessly. It would make producing it on the first try--which he fully expected--all the more impressive.

'Wonderful,' said Holloway, sounding genuinely pleased. 'Before you say the incantation, I want you to close your eyes and clearly envision the memory you want to use. Don't worry right now about the fact that we're in a brightly lit room... Yes, I know it's not _brightly_ lit, but it's at least lit, quite unlike the way it will be with an actual Dementor.'

Draco obediently closed his eyes, flicking his hair out of his face first.

Holloway continued, 'Think of something genuinely happy. The first time you rode a broomstick, maybe... a favourite birthday, the first time Professor McGonagall gave full marks...'

This got a few laughs. Draco smiled politely, his eyes still closed.

'Maybe your first kiss, your first time with a girl--'

Draco opened his eyes to see everyone's reactions. A few people were looking thoughtful, including, much to his surprise, Potter; the rest appeared distinctly uncomfortable, including, much to his satisfaction, Weasley.

'Oh, yes,' Holloway said, cheerfully oblivious to the sudden awkwardness. 'Sexual memories are quite powerful. I personally use one of my earliest experiences. So far it's worked every time.' He turned back to Draco. 'Got your memory?'

Oh, right. Draco closed his eyes, dredging up his first shag with Pansy. Er... no, maybe not that one. The worst moment of the evening was a toss-up between _Is it in yet?_ and _So that's what premature means._ He cringed inwardly. No, it wouldn't do at all. Perhaps that time with the cute little Hufflepuff, what was her name, Amanda. Amanda Bolton with the curly hair and double joints. She'd been a fun two weeks, and not even too upset when he'd told her, quite politely, that he had to move on. Yes, she would do.

Amanda's delightfully rounded bottom swam before his eyes.

'Whenever you're ready, Mr Malfoy,' said Holloway.

Draco thought of how Amanda had felt wrapped around him, how soft and small her body had been, how wonderfully eager to please she'd been, and how pleased he'd been. _'Expecto Patronum!'_ he said firmly, and opened his eyes.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing. No silver creature, no formless mist, nothing, just his wand, stretched out rather foolishly, pointing at the rest of the students.

Potter's expression was smug, Granger looked pleased, and Weasley was grinning like a loon. Draco sneered at them and turned back to the professor.

'Try another memory, Mr Malfoy,' said Holloway evenly. 'That one doesn't appear to have been strong enough. Sometimes a single memory doesn't do it. Try combining several for a general sense of happiness.'

Multiple memories, right. Draco frantically riffled through girls like so many pages in a catalogue. Pansy, Amanda, Parvati, Lucia, Millicent--er, no, maybe not Millicent--Madeleine, Padma, Natalie, Kathleen, Suzanne, Ginny--no, not Ginny, most definitely not Ginny--Deirdre, Kate, Gwendolyn...

Draco pushed Ginny out of the line-up, thought of having all dozen girls on him at once, thanked the fact that his robes were bulky, raised his wand again and shouted, _'Expecto Patronum!'_

There was a whooshing noise. Draco opened his eyes and saw a shining formless mist hanging in front of his face. Two seconds later, it vanished.

If he'd only got that book from Ginny Weasley night before last, this wouldn't be happening, now, would it? he thought angrily.

But Holloway was nodding, looking pleased. 'Well done, Mr Malfoy, very well done. On the second attempt, excellent! Next?'

'I'd like to try once more, sir,' Draco said quickly. He had to do it, he had to get a corporeal Patronus. If the Mudblood could, then there was no way a Malfoy couldn't.

'All right then,' said Holloway, blinking. 'Take another go.'

No one would ever know what images he had conjured. The only risk was that it wasn't a happy memory; but powerful and happy were so much alike... The sensation of being the centre of attention deluged over him like hot water, leaving him light-headed.

_'Expecto Patronum!'_ he bellowed, and opened his eyes as he heard a _whoosh_.

Out of the end of his wand shot an immense silver dragon, its mouth open in a silent roar, teeth bared ferociously. Draco felt a surge of triumph, and then a stab of weakness. The dragon faded as Draco's control gave out.

Holloway applauded enthusiastically; reluctantly, the rest of the class put their hands together two or three times. Millicent gave him a solemn and somehow chilling nod.

'That was _excellent,_ Mr Malfoy,' said Holloway with feeling. 'I'm impressed.'

'Thank you, sir.' The image of Ginny Weasley's lips still lingered behind his eyelids.

'I understand it's private,' Holloway said politely, 'but what sort of memory did you use?'

'Gi-- Just a girl.' Draco shrugged casually.

'Wonderful.' Holloway beamed. 'Next?'


	8. Ginny in the Common Room

**Author Notes**: Please leave a review.

**Chapter Eight**

Ginny was relieved when the weekend finally came. And such a nice weekend it was, too, the first really fine one since before Christmas. The sun shone brightly without being too miserable, the flowers had started to bloom, and there was just enough of a breeze to ripple Ginny's hair as she sat at a window in the Gryffindor common room and contemplated her Defence Against the Dark Arts essay, 'In Defence of the Dark Arts', the oddest assignment she'd ever received.

Professor Holloway was unlike any of her previous five Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers. Naturally he taught them various counterspells, and helped fill in the gaps that their previous teachers had left, but sometimes he would pause in the middle of a lesson and ask, 'Now, is this right?' The first time he'd done that, back in September, everyone had assumed he meant to ask whether Colin Creevey's remarkably clear explanation of the various ways to kill vampires had been the correct answer. But after a moment it became apparent that he was in fact asking whether it was _morally_ right.

'Is this right?' he'd repeated, looking around at them with nothing in his eyes to hint at what he wanted to hear back. 'A vampire can't help himself when he's in thrall. He needs blood, and he'll do anything to get it. Is it right for us to go and kill these creatures simply for trying to survive?'

The baffled silence in the classroom seemed to satisfy him, for he went on, 'All right, I'll let you think that one over as you write me a seven-inch summary of the chapter on vampires.'

Holloway didn't always ask them whether the use of a particular spell or curse was 'right', but he did it often enough that Ginny was never surprised when the question came up, and felt quite comfortable taking part in the discussion. They'd had some really terrific debates, too, and Holloway would never take one side only; he was always able to come up with a counter-argument.

And now they had been assigned a three-foot essay on the Dark Arts: 'The Dark Arts are good. Defend.' Holloway hadn't given them any idea of how to research or even approach the topic, and Ginny wondered if the Slytherins had been given the same topic, and if so, whether they would write things like, 'The Dark Arts are good because I can use them to kill Muggles.'

For her own essay, Ginny thought she would first decide why the Dark Arts were called such. What made something Dark? What was that quality of wrongness that made one label a kind of magic 'Dark'? Was it wrongness at all, in fact? Darkness had nothing inherently _wrong_ with it. It was simply the absence of light, or a shadow, and to have shadows one needed light. _That_ was a phrase she had to include in her essay. She'd scribbled it earlier in the margins of her chaotic musings, and now she stared at it as though it would write the essay for her.

_Darkness is merely the absence of light. It is the presence of shadows; but to have shadows one must first have light._

Ginny considered herself a good writer, and in fact was hoping to make a career of it, maybe in journalism or even as a novelist, but her usual endless stream of words had now deserted her.

She sighed and tossed down her quill. Charlotte and Lisa, who were sitting next to each other at the long end of the table, both looked up.

'Holloway's essay?' asked Lisa.

'Yeah,' said Ginny with a grimace. 'I've no idea how to start it.'

'You could just waffle for three feet,' Charlotte said. 'That's what I did.' She pointed proudly at a thick scroll in the middle of the table. 'Useless essay, if you ask me,' she said with sudden emotion. 'I mean, we all know that the Dark Arts are evil, so why bother having us write so much in favour of them?'

'Can I see it?' Ginny asked.

'Sure.' Charlotte shrugged and passed it over.

It was, as Charlotte had said, three feet of waffle. She never said outright that the Dark Arts were good, but rather went on about various times in history when spells of dubious nature had been used for the public--or at least human--good. It appeared to be well-researched, with many references and footnotes and even a three-inch bibliography. But she never actually stated the required opinion.

'Did you really do all this research?' Ginny asked, impressed.

Charlotte smirked. 'I got a list of books from Hermione Granger,' she said. 'I don't think any of the events are made up, but the page numbers certainly are. I hope he doesn't check,' she whispered comically.

Ginny laughed and handed the scroll back. 'Have you finished yours?' she then asked Lisa.

'Of course not!' Lisa said with mock indignation. 'It's not due 'til Tuesday. I can't possibly start it before Monday afternoon. Wouldn't be right, would it?'

Ginny laughed and smiled dutifully, then turned back to her parchment. She wondered why their nonchalance about the assignment bothered her so much. Lisa always left essays to the last minute, so that shouldn't be a big deal. Still, it was an important question--could the Dark Arts be anything but evil? could they actually be good?--that Ginny felt it deserved more than the usual treatment. Holloway was questioning something all of them had taken to be self-evident.

Part of her thought that Charlotte was right: it was obvious that the Dark Arts were evil. Just look at Lord Voldemort, or Lucius Malfoy, or the Death Eaters. There was nothing good about them in any way.

But if they were so evil, argued another voice, how had it been possible for Charlotte to come up with three feet of examples of times when the Dark Arts had been helpful? Or were those the exceptions, Ginny wondered, and was this one case where the exception didn't prove the rule?

She frowned, stuck the end of her quill in her mouth, and stared absently around the common room. It was a few seconds before she realised she was staring at Harry, and that he was smiling at her. She blinked, took the quill out of her mouth, and smiled back.

He took this as an apparent invitation, for he got up from his chair and ambled over to her.

'Hey,' he said to Ginny as he reached the table.

Lisa nudged Charlotte, and both gave Harry matching coquettish smiles, complete with batting eyelashes. Ginny sent a kick under the table.

Lisa winced, but her smile stayed fixed in place. 'Hi, Harry,' she said breathlessly. 'How are you?'

'Fine, thanks,' he said, glancing at the two girls briefly. Then he looked back at Ginny. 'What are you working on?' he asked.

'Defence Against the Dark Arts,' Ginny said with a grimace. 'Holloway's got us writing three feet in defence of the Dark Arts.' Harry looked puzzled, so Ginny clarified, 'We have to argue that they're "good". "The Dark Arts are good. Defend." That's the exact topic.'

'Strange,' Harry remarked.

'That's Holloway,' said Ginny with a shrug. 'He's good, though, isn't he?'

'Yeah,' said Harry enthusiastically. 'Yesterday we did Patronuses, the whole class. Most are old D.A. members, of course, so they'd worked on it before, but he was really good at explaining it. The memories and all that.'

'Oh? What did he say?' Ginny tried not to remember what had happened the last time she was looking up information on Dementors.

Harry looked slightly flushed. 'Erm, well, he talked about a solid happiness, and gave ideas for what sort of memories to use.'

Ginny eyed Harry speculatively and wondered what could have happened in a Defence lesson that could now be making him flush.

'What are you doing over here, anyway?' she asked suddenly, then regretted how accusing it sounded. It was her turn to wince as Lisa kicked her.

Harry flushed even darker and ran a hand behind his neck. 'Er, well, you were looking at me, and I thought, er, maybe you wanted to talk, or, er, maybe you wanted to, er, maybe go for a walk around the lake?'

The last came out in such a rush that Ginny barely heard it. 'A walk--around the lake?' she repeated stupidly. She was only peripherally aware of two gaping faces beside her. 'No--no, I was just staring into space,' she explained, 'thinking about my essay, and--'

Harry looked down at his feet and pushed his glasses up his nose. His head wobbled about slightly as though he was trying to nod and shake his head both at once.

'Sorry, Harry,' Ginny went on, and put her hand on his arm. He twitched. 'Really, I was just staring around the common room, thinking, and although--although I'd really love to walk around the lake with you'--she smiled at him as genuinely as she could manage--'I've got to get this essay finished.'

'We could--we could discuss it...' Harry trailed off hopefully.

Ginny glanced over Harry's shoulder at her brother. Ron was glowering at them, which made up Ginny's mind for her.

'All right then,' she said. 'I suppose a walk around the lake would be nice.' And if Harry wanted to do more, well... he was a nice guy. Why he had suddenly chosen to fancy her after so many years of being completely oblivious, she didn't know. Still, she'd try. And it might even work out, which would be admittedly nice.

'I'll be back later,' she told Charlotte and Lisa, arranging her papers into a pile. Both shot her jealous looks as she picked up her cloak and followed Harry.


	9. Conversations by the Lake

**Author Notes**: Please leave a review.

**Chapter Nine**

As soon as the portrait hole swung closed behind Harry, Ginny felt an awkward silence descend like a curtain between them. It shouldn't have, really--Harry was practically a Weasley, especially if you asked her mother, and there had always been plenty to talk about before.

Then again, maybe it was precisely their semi-siblinghood that made this so uncomfortable. Why the hell had Harry suddenly and randomly asked her out?

A dozen possible conversation starters piled up in Ginny's head: _So, you fancy me now?... I imagine you really just want to snog, not talk... Are you still virgin, by any chance? Most bets say you're saving yourself..._ and many more highly inappropriate ones.

'So,' Ginny began, hoping that one or more of her options would choose itself, and that she wouldn't horribly embarrass herself. Her mouth motored on without her: 'What are your plans for the Easter holidays?'

'Mostly studying, I guess,' Harry said with a shrug. 'N.E.W.T.'s are coming up, and you know how Hermione is. We're in three of the same classes, Defence, Charms, and Transfiguration, and she's been harping on since January.'

'Oh, you're not doing Potions?' Ginny asked, seizing on the safe subject of classes.

'No,' Harry said unhappily. 'McGonagall bullied Snape into it last year, but my marks were so bad that she couldn't make him accept me for a second year. There went Auror training. Snape was thrilled.'

'I'm really sorry, Harry,' Ginny said. She placed a hand on his arm sympathetically.

He turned to her. Ginny noticed a faint line of smudgy black around his mouth--he'd started shaving, then. More accurately, he _hadn't_ shaved that morning.

Without warning, Harry leaned down and kissed her full on the mouth.

Ginny was aware that his lips were chapped and that the fuzz around his mouth was extremely bristly. The way they were standing, in the middle of the corridor with about a foot and a half between their bodies, and Ginny's hand on Harry's arm rather than behind his back or head, made the kiss anything but passionate. Still, Ginny tried to enjoy it. She leaned into the kiss and moved her lips around not unencouragingly.

After several seconds of futile effort, Harry broke away.

'I'm sorry,' he said sheepishly. 'That really didn't work.'

'Don't worry about it,' Ginny said with a bit of a laugh.

'Nothing there, is there?' Harry looked, if anything, slightly relieved.

'Nope. Sorry, Harry.' There went her childhood fantasy: she had kissed Harry Potter and felt nothing. She realised that she was perfectly okay with this.

Harry coughed and looked away, then said, 'This essay you've got to write, what is it?'

'You still want to go on that walk?'

'Sure. It's a nice enough day, you didn't look so happy with your friends--'

'Why do you say that?' Ginny asked as they continued off down the corridor, heading for the front doors.

'You were talking with them, and you were laughing, but the moment they stopped watching you, you let your smile down.'

'I didn't think I was being that obvious.'

'I don't think anyone else would have noticed. I was just watching you. You're nice to look at.'

Despite the lack of chemistry between them, Ginny felt flattered. 'Thanks,' she said. 'You're not so bad yourself.'

'Oh, I don't know,' Harry said. 'I'm a little gangly in places, a little soft in others'--he patted his stomach--'and this fuzz,' he said, indicating his chin, 'never seems to go away no matter how much I shave. And let's not start on the hair.'

'I like the hair,' Ginny said defensively. She reached up to ruffle it. It was a long reach; he was taller than she was. 'But let's not get started on self-image; I could go on for hours on what I hate about myself.'

'Like what?' Harry sounded genuinely interested.

Ginny regretted having brought it up, but said nonetheless, 'Well, I don't like my hips, and my arms are all pudgy, and I've got about fifteen extra pounds 'round the middle--'

'Soft is nice,' said Harry firmly. 'It gives you shape. You're not a stick like, say, Lavender Brown. She's got no figure at all.'

Ginny had always envied Lavender her slenderness, and Harry's attitude surprised her. 'I just worry that I'll turn out like Mum.' She sighed. To her horror, she felt little pricks of water at the corner of her eyes. Fortunately, they had reached the doors at this point, and she made a point of rubbing her eyes against the sunlight. 'Bright out, isn't it?'

The small pause Harry allowed before speaking announced that he'd noticed the subject change, but was letting it pass. 'I like it,' he said. 'It's been a long, cold winter.'

Ginny suspected he didn't just mean the weather. 'Why?' she asked. 'What's been happening?'

'Voldemort--'

Ginny flinched. She'd still not got used to it.

'--and the Death Eaters, that's what's been happening. I still get occasional flashes of his emotions. Sometimes I'll be in the middle of a lesson, and Voldemort will get bad news, or good news, and I'll feel a random twinge of irritation or happiness, and, well, it just messes up my spellwork. Nightmares, too. They're not as bad as they used to be, but I just can't--I can't ever seem to get away from being The Boy Who Lived. The bloody Chosen One.'

They turned onto the path that led around the lake. There were kissing couples lying on cloaks in the sunlight, kissing couples wobbily walking the path, kissing couples standing behind bushes; but the trouble with bushes, Ginny considered, is that they're round, and what is behind from one point is not from another.

Ginny glanced at Harry and saw that his mouth was twitching. 'Spring,' he said succinctly, with a jerk of his head towards one couple who were rather too busy with each other to notice them.

If she could change the subject, so could he. ''Tis the season to be hormonal.'

Harry laughed, and they took a fork onto a more deserted path. There were some benches here that looked across the lake towards the mountains. The two of them sat down and arranged their cloaks more securely--it was quite chilly in the shade.

Ginny decided that the conversation had reached the appropriate point, so she asked, 'So why did you ask me out? Why did you kiss me?'

Harry sighed, stretched his legs out, and put his arms behind his head. Ginny eyed him, wishing there was something between them--he was dead sexy like that, but he didn't make her gut twinge, not like--

_No._

Harry was speaking. 'To be honest, to see if it would work.'

'You mean you were just _curious_?'

'Yes.' Harry now sounded uncomfortable. 'I just...' He scratched his head. 'I can't seem to keep a relationship going. Cho was a disaster, the whole school knows that. Then there was Luna, but she--'

'--was too weird?'

'No, she was actually a lot of fun to hang around. She had the wildest ideas, and it was great to see what she could get away with saying to other people. But she broke it off. She told me--she was really nice about it, which was great--but she told me that my mind was always elsewhere, and that she knew it wasn't on her, and that it was probably best if we just stayed friends.' Harry smiled. 'She's a really nice girl.'

'She is.'

'And ever since then, I've been kind of, well, 'trying' girls out.'

'You mean you've been taking girls into corridors and kissing them?' Ginny asked incredulously.

'Sometimes,' Harry said seriously. 'But mostly I've just been considering what it would be like to date one or the other. Closest I ever came to success was Parvati, but we eventually decided it was just physical.'

'Oh? Exactly... _how_ physical?'

Harry grinned.

Ginny raised an eyebrow.

Harry, not looking quite as smug as she would have expected, said, 'Let's just say that Parvati's very, er, _generous_ with her favours, and that I knew exactly what Professor Holloway was talking about when he told us that using sexually strong memories would work well to conjure up a Patronus.'

'I see.'

'How about you?' Harry asked.

'Oh, now we're having the "how far have you gone?" conversation, are we?'

'Might as well.' Harry shrugged. 'I can't talk to Ron or Hermione about this, you realise.'

'Whyever not?'

'Hermione, maybe. But Ron would go all red and awkward. Besides,' he said, 'they're pretty much wrapped up in themselves these days.'

'True.'

'So...?'

Ginny was silent for a moment. 'It was Dean Thomas,' she said eventually. 'He came to visit the Burrow summer before last--'

'I remember,' Harry murmured.

'--and everyone was outside doing something or other, and we were alone for about half an hour, and... and he was nice, and gentle, and... yeah. It was okay.'

'No sparks?'

'Not really. That's one of the reasons I broke up with him.'

Harry turned and looked at her intently. 'Have you ever felt them? The sparks, the fireworks? Have you ever kissed anyone and...' He trailed off, gesturing helplessly.

Ginny panicked. Even though Harry seemed trustworthy, she was not going to tell him anything whatsoever about... that. Besides, she told herself, it's just hormones.

'Or not kissing,' Harry said. 'Just... have you ever been in love?'

Now that was a question Ginny could answer easily.

'Yes, I have,' she said slowly. She bit her lip and looked down, the affected nervousness and hesitation coming very naturally. 'I don't know if it was exactly,' she told her knees, 'but it certainly was strong, and at the time I thought it was love, though how can you know when you're so young...'

'Yes? Who was it?'

'Tom,' said Ginny in a bleak voice, meeting Harry's shocked gaze. 'Tom Riddle.'


	10. In the Girls' Toilet

**Author Notes**: Please leave a review.

**Chapter Ten**

Ginny propped her legs up on the stall door and sighed, vowing to include more fibre in her diet from now on. The celebratory sausages at breakfast, in honor of her finished Defence essay, had perhaps been a bad idea.

She hated using this bathroom. It always brought up memories of Tom, of her first year, but it wasn't as if she'd had much of a choice when looking for the nearest toilet five minutes ago. Ginny did not want to think anymore about Tom; talking to Harry the other day about her confused feelings for him had been bad enough.

'I was only eleven!' Ginny had protested in response to Harry's look of horror. 'How could I know what love is? Tom listened to me, he wrote back when I told him my troubles--remember how much of a crush I had on you? He made me feel that I was important. He paid attention to me, and he was the first person ever to do so. Do you wonder that I fell in love with him? It may not have been physical, but it was seduction nonetheless.'

'Seduction? It was rape!'

'_No._ No, it was not rape. Rape is something totally different, it--'

'Rape is a violation, it's--it's one person forcing themselves on another, it's--'

'It's only rape if the girl is unwilling,' Ginny had shot back, whereupon Harry had grown very silent.

'I'm sorry,' he'd said at last. 'I forget how persuasive he can be.'

Ginny grimaced and stared around the chipped stalls and at the floor, memories floating up from the dark place where she tried to keep them locked: Tom's voice, Tom's handwriting, Tom's apparent devotion; and then the horror of what she'd done. The worst part had been her parents' shock and disappointment, her father's angry 'What did I tell you?'

Ginny sighed, pushed the memories back into their corner, and reached for the toilet paper again.

Then she froze, her hand hovering over the spool.

Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode had just entered, and Pansy was crying hard enough to drown out even Myrtle.

'...and then--_hic_--she said--_hic_--that she'd make me--_hic_--even if she had to--_hic_--she had to use--_hic_--Imperius--_hic_--' Pansy wailed.

'Shh, Pans, it's all right...' Millicent said awkwardly.

Millicent's huge feet paused, and the knees bent as she checked the stalls for listeners. Ginny willed her wobbly knees to stay still, held her breath and clenched her abdominal muscles.

Millicent straightened as Pansy gave a great wet sniff.

'But Mum--in the letter--_hic_--'

Pansy must have written home, informing them that she'd broken up with Draco, Ginny realised, startled. And her mother had written her back, and now Pansy was crying in Myrtle's bathroom. Ginny felt her pulse quicken.

'Forget the letter,' Millicent said bracingly, 'she can't do anything with you still here.'

'But the money--the company--they need the Mal-_hic_-foy fortune, it's going down the drain--'

'Don't worry about it now. There's a few months left before you're out of school. You can't marry until then. They'll just have to wait, Pansy. They'll just have to wait.'

Pansy gave another wet sniff, then blew her nose. 'I swear, if I have to marry Draco and deal with his flings and affairs and his--his _crap_, I'm going to make Granger pay for it.'

_Hermione?_

'You think he went after her? The Mudblood?'

'He as good as admitted it. You saw how he reacted--' Pansy broke off. 'Oh, that's right, you weren't there. You were--'

'Yes,' said Millicent tersely.

'Was it--was it really that bad?'

Ginny assumed that Millicent nodded, because Pansy sucked her breath in between her teeth.

'Can you... would you... would you tell me?' Pansy asked. She sounded nervous and apprehensive, even young, as she went on, 'You don't have to tell me, you know--'

'Do you really want to know?'

'I think--I think I should know what I'm getting into. Especially if I still have to marry that little shit; you know what he's destined for.'

Destined? Draco? Ginny did _not_ want to hear this. She wanted to jump off the toilet and announce her presence, but her body was frozen.

'If you're sure,' said Millicent. Pansy must have nodded, because Millicent continued, 'Right, then. First, I had to prove my "devotion", as they call it. You know, that I agree with their beliefs. That part wasn't so bad.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah. I answered some questions, then _he_ asked for testimonies to my devotion to the cause. Lucius spoke, Severus too--'

'_Severus?_'

'After all that? Yeah, I'm going to call him Severus.' Millicent took a deep breath. 'Right. They spoke, a few others... I recognized some of the voices: Montague, Avery, Theo's father... It was pretty simple.'

'And then?'

'Then I had to prove my skill, you know, curses and such. I duelled someone. I don't know who, so don't ask. He was masked. I must have done well, Severus says, because even though I lost, _he_ didn't spend too long cursing me.'

'What? What do you mean?'

'I lost the duel, and for that, the Dark Lord punished me. But it wasn't as bad as some have been, Severus said.'

'Which--'

'Cruciatus,' Millicent interrupted, as if she didn't want to talk about it. She barrelled on, 'After the duel, and after the... punishment, I had to kill.'

_'Kill?'_

'It was just a Muggle.'

'Oh, of course.'

'I guess they've had people who've refused to do it. But I think it was more to see if I had the power for the Killing Curse.'

'And did you?'

'Of course I did. If I hadn't, do you think I'd be here?'

'S'pose not.'

'So I killed this Muggle--'

Killed this Muggle. Killed.

'--and it felt amazing. It's the first time I've ever killed a _person._ Just... wow. Power, Pansy. So much fucking _power_. You wouldn't believe how much it takes out of you, but then you get this amazing rush. It's a better high than... than anything.'

'Wow,' Pansy breathed. 'And that was it?'

Millicent laughed hollowly. 'No. No, that wasn't it. Then came the part where I had to prove my loyalty, how far I would go for him, what I would be willing to do. Of course, he expects unfailing devotion. And he's going to get it from me. He's such an amazing leader. I'd do anything for him. _Anything_.'

Ginny felt cold, and sweaty, and her heart was pounding so hard she wondered that they didn't hear it.

'And... what did you have to do?'

'Have sex with Severus.'

'What?' Pansy yelped, and Ginny clapped a hand over her own mouth to stifle a squeak. 'With... with _Snape?_ But you--you don't--you aren't into boys...'

'No, I'm not. But think about it, Pansy. What better test of my loyalty? And I had to like it. I had to be enthusiastic about it, I had to do whatever Severus wanted, whatever _he_ wanted Severus to tell me to do. I'm telling you,' she said with a sudden laugh, 'I honestly did not know my body could bend that way.'

Pansy made a noise of disgust, but Millicent went on, 'And _he_ was inside my head the entire time. I couldn't hide anything from him. He could tell that I hated it, that it hurt, that I was completely disgusted, but he also knew that I was doing this for him.'

Ginny would have expected that to be said in horror or disgust, or even matter-of-factly, but Millicent sounded ecstatic.

'He's so powerful, Pansy. He's just so fucking powerful.'

'And...how was he?'

'How was who? Severus? Jeez, can't you think of anything else?' There was a thump. Millicent had punched Pansy in the arm.

'Ow! Hey! I think of other things... sometimes... when I have to.' Pansy giggled. 'Go on, how was he?'

Millicent snorted. 'He was okay. I wasn't really paying attention, you know. I had other things to think about at the time. I don't think he enjoyed it particularly--I think he's queer--but he was at least gentle. Can you imagine if it had been Lucius?'

'Hey, Lucius is pretty good.'

'Ew! You mean you've...'

'Once or twice,' Pansy said with another giggle. 'It was... educational.'

Ginny felt, if it were possible, even sicker.

'Gross! He's old enough to be your father!'

'So? He's better than Draco, and he's got more influence. And Snape's not that much younger, is he? But go on about the ceremony. You had to shag Snape, and then...?'

'Then... then I got my Mark.' Millicent's voice now trembled with emotion. 'I was considered worthy. It was... wow. Fucking wow. When he puts the brand on you, you feel him inside you, like he's crawling into your skin and getting inside your soul.' The next words came in a whisper. 'He's always with me, Pansy. I can feel him inside me now. You're never alone, and it's wonderful. It's better than sex. It's better than _bloodletting._'

Ginny, lightheaded, bent her head down to her knees.

'And you like it?'

'It's amazing.'

'I hope it's worth it.'

'Oh, it is, believe me, it is.'

Ginny sat in shock, her nose pressed to her knees as her circulation got on with its job. She heard some zips, snaps, and the gush of running water--Pansy was adjusting her makeup.

'Anyway,' Pansy said finally, 'I'm going to owl Narcissa. She'll send it to Lucius. If the Mudblood's trying to sink her claws into Draco, I'll just have to start making her life hell.'

'Why do you care? If Draco's such a shit, don't bother.'

'I've got to, Millicent. You wouldn't understand,' Pansy said loftily. 'Boy-girl stuff.'

Millicent scoffed.

'And I'm no good at plotting revenge,' said Pansy with a final furious zip of her bag. 'But Lucius--'

'You know he'll kill Draco, too,' said Millicent conversationally, as their voices trailed out the door.

The last thing Ginny heard before the door clicked shut was Pansy's diffident 'So?'


	11. Melodrama

**Author Notes**: Please leave a review.

**Chapter Eleven**

For a good thirty seconds after the door had closed, Ginny sat on her toilet seat, frozen with shock. She could not feel her fingers or her feet; all the blood had rushed to her thighs, which were tingling with the effort of keeping her legs against the stall door. But she didn't notice this--all she could think of, or try to think of, was what Pansy and Millicent had said.

Blood. Sex. Power. Millicent, a Death Eater. Draco, destined for something. Hermione, in danger.

At that moment, Ginny would have given anything to go back five minutes, back to a time when she didn't know these things, when Draco Malfoy was only a snooty prat; when Pansy and Millicent were just sluts and bullies; when Hermione and Lucius Malfoy only belonged in the same sentence if it was talking about house-elves. She felt a queer sensation of having passed through a barrier, as though she was on the other side of an invisible wall. Was this what losing your innocence felt like?

Her thoughts churned, and she blinked furiously whilst the rest of her sat utterly still. It was too much, she couldn't think, she couldn't make heads nor tails of it. Then, with a sudden clear calm, she realised that she had to get moving--she had to find Hermione and warn her.

Mechanically Ginny finished on the toilet, flushed, washed her hands, dried them carefully, and walked out of the bathroom. As soon as the door had closed, panic overtook her and she broke into a run.

The corridors teemed with students jostling in their hurry to get from one lesson to another. Ginny herself had to be in Potions in--she checked her watch--three minutes, and there was no sign of Hermione. What did she have Tuesday morning? Arithmancy, Runes, Care of Magical Creatures? No, she'd dropped that...

Transfiguration, that's what she had. Transfiguration, along with Harry and Ron and most of the seventh year.

Ginny dashed up another staircase, flew unpleasantly through Nearly Headless Nick, shouted an apology back at him, and came to a crashing halt as she nearly collided with Harry and Ron.

'What's up?' Harry asked, reaching out an arm to steady her.

'Where are you going?' asked Ron. 'Shouldn't you be in a lesson?'

'I've got Potions in two minutes,' Ginny said quickly, looking past Ron, 'but I need to find Hermione. I overheard--in the bathroom--Oh, where is she?'

'She's still talking to Flitwick,' Ron said, jerking his head back the way he and Harry had come. 'Wanted to--'

Ginny didn't wait for Ron to finish before she was running again. As she rounded a corner, moving out of the mass of students into an empty corridor, she hit something solid and fell over, landing with a painful thud on the stone floor.

'Watch where you're going, Weasley!' said a voice above her.

Ginny groaned into the grout and let her nose rest against the floor for a breath. She felt like part of some ridiculous melodrama on the wireless: _As our heroine dashes through the castle to warn her friend, she runs into the very person she least wants to see..._

She got to her feet and saw that Draco Malfoy was retrieving his fallen books. She fought briefly with her mother's etiquette training, lost, and reluctantly went over with the intention of helping him pick them up.

'Don't touch,' he said coldly.

Something in Ginny snapped, and she heard a snarl escape her lips as she stood up. 'Fuck off, Malfoy,' she said angrily. 'There are more important things in life. Your ex-girlfriend is out to kill you, you know?'

She made to stomp off angrily, but Malfoy reached out with surprising speed and grabbed her by the wrist.

'Let go of me,' she demanded.

'No,' Malfoy said. He let his books fall to the floor again, took both Ginny's wrists in his hands, and pushed Ginny up against the corridor wall. He held her hands out to the sides, away from her body, to keep her from going for her wand. He'd learned.

'Let go of me, Malfoy!' Ginny's voice bounced off the walls and came back to her, high-pitched and frightened. If her knees hadn't turned to jelly, she would have kicked him in the groin.

'Not until you tell me what you've heard.' His face was only inches from hers.

Ginny was tempted to lean forward and bite him on his pale nose. 'She's your girlfriend, you ask her. I'm late for Potions. Let me go.' She tried to twist her wrists free, but he was larger than she was. She thought of her wand, tucked away in her back pocket.

_'What did you hear?'_ Malfoy hissed. 'Tell me!'

Malfoy was trying, Ginny realised, to sound intimidating and confident, but the catch in his voice belied him.

She also realised that being pinned up against a wall was something her body liked. Even if the person doing it was the worst prat in the world.

'Tell me!' he repeated, more urgently.

Ginny felt a rush of relaxation. Malfoy needed her. He wouldn't harm her because if he did, she wouldn't tell him anything. She was in charge here. She took a calming breath and looked him in the eyes. 'Millicent's a Death Eater.'

Malfoy met her gaze. 'I know. I've seen her Mark. What else is new?'

'Pansy's slept with your father.'

'I know that, too. She's a slut. Doesn't mean she's out to kill me.'

'Why are you so scared?'

'I'm not scared.' He put his chin forward.

'Pansy's written to your father to tell him you've broken up.'

Malfoy blinked several times. 'My father would have heard eventually.' He tried to shrug. 'So I've messed up an arranged marriage.'

'She thinks you're in love with Hermione.'

Malfoy laughed in her face. Ginny noticed a smell of rancid sausage on his breath. 'In love with the Mudblood? With the chipmunk?'

Ginny shrugged as best she could with her arms out to her sides, ignoring her racing pulse. 'That's what she thinks. Doesn't matter if it's true, does it? If your father thinks you and Hermione are going to elope any day now, he'll kill you. But you know what? I don't give a shit what your father does to you, I just want to keep him away from Hermione.'

Malfoy's face went pale. 'Don't lie,' he said.

Ginny let out a huff of disbelief.

He continued, 'You do give a shit. You do care.'

'About you? The arrogant son-of-a-bitch whose father--'

'I'm not my father!' Malfoy shouted, startling Ginny. He threw his hands up, freeing her wrists. 'Fucking hell, I'm not--'

He stopped suddenly. Ginny's wandtip was at his throat.

'What will it be this time?' Malfoy asked contemptuously. His face had turned pink. 'More Bat-Bogeys?'

Ginny's hand shook only slightly. 'Why did you kiss me?' she asked.

'What?'

'Last week. In the library. Why?'

'Because I could.'

'You had no right--'

'I am a Malfoy,' he hissed. 'I can have whatever I bloody well want.'

He'd said the exact same thing last week.

'I thought you said you weren't your father,' Ginny said.

'What?' he repeated.

'You know perfectly well _what_. You say you're not your father, but you throw the Malfoy name around like you're already head of the family. You look like him, you walk like him, you talk like him. You think being a Malfoy makes you the fucking ruler of the universe.'

'The Malfoys are a very old--' Malfoy began haughtily, but Ginny laughed him into silence.

'What does it matter how old your family is if your own father wants to kill you?'

'My father wouldn't kill me,' he barked.

'Are you sure of that?'

Malfoy went very still and backed off an half an inch; Ginny wanted to go for her schoolbag and run away, far away, but didn't feel quite stable enough to move yet. The wall held her up.

Malfoy stood in front of her, limp, silent, pale. Young and scared. All the anger that had made him so intimidating and powerful earlier had fled. 'He wouldn't...' he said very quietly.

Ginny contemplated the fear in his eyes and the sag of his shoulders, and ignored her trembling knees. The ignorant prick. He deserved every inch of what was coming to him.

'Like I said, I don't care what happens to you,' Ginny lied. She ducked around him, picked up her bookbag, and walked away.

She had only gone a few steps when she heard Malfoy whisper, 'Wait.'

Ginny stopped in spite of herself.

Malfoy's words were quiet but intense: 'I'm not my father. I don't want to be my father. I'm not a Death Eater, and I'm not going to be one--'

The idiot. Ginny turned around. 'You are _really_ thick.'

He stared at her.

Ginny walked the few steps back to him and poked him in the chest with her wand. He winced.

'Being a Malfoy means more than just money and a tapestry of fancy names,' Ginny said. 'I thought you would know, you go on about it often enough. You're the Malfoy _heir_, Draco. You're going to be a Death Eater whether you like it or not.'

She walked away.

When she finally reached Potions, trembling, furious, and wishing she could have talked to Hermione, Professor Snape gave her a week's detention for being ten minutes late.

This, Ginny decided, was definitely a bad day.


	12. Draco Considers

**Author Notes**: Please leave a review.

**Chapter Twelve**

'You're going to be a Death Eater whether you like it or not.'

Draco watched Ginny walk away, blinking back the glitter at the edge of his vision. She was wrong, he was sure of it--there was no way he would be a Death Eater. Absolutely no way.

A clock chimed, and Draco realised with a sick feeling that he had to go to the lesson now or face McGonagall's wrath. Already he'd be lucky to avoid a detention.

Draco finished collecting his books, his body feeling rather wooden and stiff, and then pointed his feet in the correct direction and forced his legs to move. He really didn't want to go--Transfiguration had most of the year in it, including Potter, Weasley, Granger, and Pansy and Millicent: the five people he least wanted to see.

Ginny's comments still stung, no matter how much he tried to push them away. _You think being a Malfoy makes you the fucking ruler of the universe,_ she'd said, and to that Draco asked himself, why not? The Malfoys were the richest, most powerful pureblood family; the Blacks and Crouches were now gone, and none of the remaining families came anywhere close to his pedigree.

And she'd actually had the gall to question whether his father would want to kill him. Of course Lucius would never kill his own offspring. Malfoys were simply too valuable to be disposed of idly...

Draco stared at a painting bereft of its occupant. Then again, his father could always have another child; there were even rumours that Draco wasn't actually the first of Lucius' children, but Draco had always dismissed those as poor attempts to mar the Malfoy name.

Maybe it was true. Maybe there was some older brother of his, lying in an unmarked grave in the middle of England, his branch violently torn from the family tree--

No. He was being stupid.

The painting's occupant returned and scolded Draco roundly for woolgathering, to which Draco replied rudely and hurried off.

Professor McGonagall glared at him when Draco arrived ten minutes late, and stopped her lecture as he found a seat off to the far left of the classroom, but to his surprise said nothing.

Draco slumped in his seat and slowly took out parchment and quill.

'You should have already found,' McGonagall resumed, thankfully taking her glare from him and aiming it at Weasley, who was whispering to Potter and sat up unconvincingly straight at the attention, 'that the transformation of objects becomes understandably more difficult the farther you try to take them from their original form. The alignment of...'

Draco tuned out. He was watching the backs of Pansy and Millicent, both sitting ramrod straight in their chairs, and not sure he wanted to know what they were thinking.

Seeing Millicent's Dark Mark had shaken him a lot more than he'd let on to Ginny.

Sunday night, Draco had tried to enter the girls' dormitory and at least attempt to patch things up with Pansy, so that he could send a reassuring letter home telling his parents not to worry, but Millicent had been standing there, blocking the doorway, her sleeves rolled up so as to display her new tattoo.

'Malfoy, stay the fuck away from her,' she'd said. 'She doesn't want to see you, and you've obviously got another girl to see.'

Draco had protested that there was no one else, but Millicent had only smiled in a way he really didn't like and said, 'Right. You just keep on believing that.'

Whereupon Draco had retreated, confused and startled. Now, sitting in his lesson, he understood what was happening. Pansy had taken a situation and turned it to her advantage, as she always had. Actually quite a Slytherin thing to do, and something Draco might have admired, had it not been his neck being risked.

Shit.

If Lucius thought that Draco had fallen in love with Hermione Granger, the fact that he was theoretically imprisoned in Azkaban would in no way prevent him from finding a way to cause both of them harm. And while Draco found the Mudblood abhorrent and such a bloody annoying know-it-all, he had to admit to himself that he would feel guilty to know that he'd caused her death.

Damnable conscience. If only it didn't carry with it such a heady sense of self-worth. At least he was reassured to realise that he'd feel even worse causing his own death.

Shit again.

He'd have to find some way of protecting Granger, which would simply fuel the rumour mill even more and make it seem that he really was interested in her. Unless he found some way to make someone else protect her? Surely if Potter knew the whole story, he'd keep his friends safe... by tying Draco up and stabbing out his heart with his wand. Bad idea, then. Weasley would only turn red and gibber, and Ginny--what could Ginny do against such determined hatred? Bat-Bogeys were all very well for school fights, but Draco knew that whatever Lucius threw at them would be more than even she could handle.

Then again, came a sudden thought, this was the Ginny Weasley who went up against six Death Eaters, including Lucius, and even though she had been with Potter and Weasley and some more of their little club, she was still alive. And then there was the power she radiated... a power of concentration, a power of will. Draco imagined putting Ginny in leather, giving her a whip, and chaining his father to a wall. He smirked, hearing his father's pleas.

'Yes, Mr Malfoy, do you have something to add?'

Draco looked around, his smile fading. The class was staring at him. Pansy looked triumphant, Millicent looked hungry, and the others looked as they always did--only now did he recognize it as distrust. Potter, Weasley, and Granger were shooting him especially wrathful looks. He wondered if Ginny had told them.

'No, Professor,' he replied.

'Then would you care to share what was so amusing about my lecture?'

'Nothing, Professor, I was thinking about something else. I'm sorry.'

McGonagall gave him a cold look, said, 'I wish you would pay better attention, Mr Malfoy; please see me after class,' and then continued, 'Transfiguring water into wine is something all of you learn by your third year, but if you look closer at the sub-elemental shift, you find...'

Draco drifted off again. He'd read about the sub-elemental shift of the water-to-wine transfiguration last week.

What he wanted was something he could _do._ He didn't want to wait around for a missive from either of his parents, perhaps a Howler from his mother, or something incomprehensible from his father.

Draco shuddered. He simply couldn't think anymore. He ran a hand through his hair and turned his face toward Professor McGonagall, who was drawing elaborate diagrams on the board, but everything that came out of her mouth was white noise.

_You're going to be a Death Eater whether you like it or not._

After the lesson he went to talk to Professor McGonagall, who, as he'd expected, told him off for arriving late and not paying attention.

'I know you're under a great deal of stress, Mr Malfoy,' she said, and he noticed her eyes flicking to his left sleeve, 'but you are still a student, and while you are a student I expect you to be punctual and attentive. You may have already read the lesson--an excellent habit for which I commend you--but items that come up in the lecture often aren't explained in the reading. I would also remind you that your participation in class is not only a part of your final mark, but an extremely important aspect of your education. If we felt that you could learn simply by reading the books and doing the homework, there would be no point of having a school.

'And it's not just today, Mr Malfoy,' she said, much to his surprise. 'You have been participating much less than usual this term, and I'm not best pleased. I expect from now on that you take a more active role in the class. You have a great deal of potential.'

'Yes, Professor,' Draco said, looking at the bridge of her nose.

Professor McGonagall regarded him for a moment, then said more gently, 'I know you're having a difficult time, Draco. Remember that there are those you can talk to in the school.' She paused, then said, 'Professor Snape, as your Head of House, might be the best option.'

'Yes, Professor,' Draco said again, and found himself thinking that might be helpful. 'I think I'll go see him directly.'

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips in a sort of smile, then nodded in dismissal.

Draco left, heading for the dungeons, trying to come up with a good way to introduce the topic of not wanting to be a Death Eater. Snape was generally quite amenable to talking with Draco, but even their usually casual relationship might be strained by the topic.

As he reached the door, he saw Ginny Weasley exiting the classroom, looking upset and irritated. Their eyes met and they shared a cold glare, but Ginny swept past him down the corridor without speaking to or hexing him.

Draco knocked.

'Come in,' said Snape. 'Ah, Draco, what can I do for you?'

'Do you have a moment to talk?' At Snape's nod, Draco came further into the class and began, 'How well do you know my father?' he asked.

'Lucius and I were at school together,' came the calm answer. 'I've known him for many years, and we correspond regularly. Why?'

'Well,' said Draco hesitantly, 'I've run into a spot of difficulty.'

Snape nodded, a trifle impatiently, for him to continue.

'It's Pansy,' Draco said with a sigh. He pulled a chair over to the side of Snape's desk and slumped dramatically into it. 'You know she's dumped me?'

'Yes, of course. Quite the melodrama.'

'Indeed,' said Draco. 'But as you also know, my father was very much for the marriage--he arranged it just after we were born, and he's been talking about it for most of my life. He desperately wants to acquire Silvertongue Publishing, and with the marriage, he'd be able, through me, to control it.'

'Go on.'

'So I'm not sure what to do,' Draco said. 'I haven't told him yet that she's broken it off. I was going to owl Mother and let her tell him next time she went to see him. I'm not sure what to write, really--that she's broken up with me and good riddance? Or that I'm doing my best to reinstate the engagement? I'm not too keen on it, personally,' he confessed, 'and I think Father knows that. But I'm worried about his reaction... You know how he can sometimes get a little violent. I know he's in Azkaban and all'--Draco let out a sniff and blinked a few times--'but still, Professor, it just worries me. Do you think he'd be very angry?'

This was Snape's cue to assure him that Lucius would do nothing to harm him, and that Draco's safety was utterly secure while at Hogwarts, and that he, Severus Snape, would personally keep Draco safe if that was what it took.

Instead, he said, 'Draco, I don't think I'm the best person to advise you on your love life.'

'I understand, sir,' said Draco, rather stiffly, 'but it's not really the love part of my life that I'm worried about.' He tried to stress the word 'love' in such a way that it conveyed that he was worried about his _life_, but he didn't think it worked.

Snape looked at Draco for a long time, and Draco had the strange sensation that Snape knew exactly what Draco was worried about but was afraid to interfere.

Feeling a little reckless, Draco burst out, 'Sir, Pansy's going to tell my father that I'm seeing Hermione Granger.'

His hopes that this would make Snape understand the gravity of the situation were immediately dashed. Snape snorted, then burst into a sudden spurt of noisy laughter that took Draco completely by surprise--he'd never heard Snape hoot like that before. It rather offended him. He kept very still, waiting for the ridicule to end.

'Draco,' Snape said when he'd calmed down, 'I wouldn't worry about anything. Go to lunch, talk to Pansy and see if you can sort things out. Women love Malfoy men, and often some take it amiss. Pansy's just trying to get your attention. Don't worry; it will all settle down in a few weeks. No one will possibly believe that you and Granger are an item.' He snorted again.

'Yes, you're probably right,' Draco said politely. 'Thanks for helping me out,' he added, further lying, 'I feel much better.'

'Glad to help,' said Snape absently, already reaching for his sandwich and marking quill, though still looking amused.

Draco stepped out of the classroom, closed the door quietly, and found himself facing Harry Potter.

'Hello, Malfoy,' said Potter, leaning against the wall. 'Care to talk?'

Draco stared at Harry, startled, then said slowly, 'Do you know, I think I might.'


	13. Conversations in a Classroom

**Author Notes**: Please leave a review.

**Chapter Thirteen**

'You should be grateful,' said Potter, as soon as they were safely inside an empty classroom, 'that Ginny came to me, not Ron.'

Draco, who had been expecting Potter to confront him about the conversation with Snape, was surprised. 'Ginny came to you?' he repeated.

'Yes,' said Potter. 'Well,' he amended, looking a little sheepish, 'she was looking for Hermione, and found me first.'

Draco narrowed his eyes. 'Look--' he began.

But before he could get any farther, Potter took out his wand and said grimly, 'You have one minute to explain to me why Pansy's going to set your father on one of my best friends.'

'Or what?' Draco couldn't help himself; the sneering contempt just came naturally.

Potter said nothing, but a jet of blue light shot out of his wand at Draco, who jumped aside just in time to avoid being hit in the balls.

'Or I'll use the nastiest Severing Charm I know,' Potter said evenly. 'Talk.'

Immediately Draco said, 'Pansy broke up with me because she thought that I was interested in Granger.'

'Why would she think that? You aren't, are you?' Potter asked accusingly.

Draco snorted. 'No, of course not. Everyone knows she's only got eyes for Weasel--Weasley,' he corrected himself, eyeing Potter's wand. 'I don't know why she thinks I'm interested in Granger.'

'Ginny said you kissed her,' said Potter with a scowl.

'What, jealous?' Draco sneered. Potter's wand twitched, and Draco added, 'It wasn't anything I was planning! It just sort of... happened.' As briefly as he could, he explained the library incident--leaving out, of course, how confrontational he'd been and making it seem like Ginny had caused all the trouble.

'And then she slapped me, and Pansy saw the handprint the next day,' he finished. 'So she broke up with me because--I don't know, I guess she thought Granger had given it to me.'

'You kissed Ginny because you were irritated at her?' Potter said. 'Stupid way to go about getting girls,' he scoffed.

'You're one to talk,' Draco said. 'I saw you kissing Maddy Chambers last week behind the tapestry of Ernestine the Eminent, and then the next day she was holding hands with Peter Dowling. I don't think you have any right to boast.'

Potter looked flushed. 'My love life is no concern of yours,' he said hotly.

'Then why does mine matter to you?' Draco shot back. 'At least I've kept a girlfriend longer than a month.'

Potter ignored Draco's jibe. 'It matters to me, Malfoy, because it's your love life that's got one of my best friends in mortal danger.'

Draco scowled at the truthfulness of this. 'So what do you want me to do?' he asked plaintively. 'If Pansy's already owled the letter, there's nothing I can do to stop it.'

'She might not have sent it yet,' Potter said, a bit desperately. 'And can't you write to your father and tell him that you're not interested in Hermione?'

'How the hell am I supposed to convince him of that?' Draco asked. 'Once my father gets an idea into his head, there's nothing can get it out again.'

'Tell him the truth!' Potter exclaimed. 'Is that so hard to do?'

'What, tell him that I kissed a blood-traitor's brat because I wanted her to pay attention to me?'

Potter gaped at him; Draco was not sure whether it was because he'd called Ginny a 'blood-traitor's brat' or because he'd confessed his motivation. For that matter, he was a little surprised to hear the confession coming from his lips, as it hadn't been something he was fully aware of.

'You kissed her just because you wanted her attention?' Potter was practically trembling with rage. 'I thought you said you were irritated at her! Don't you already get plenty from your friends and your parents?'

'It's not the same,' Draco mumbled.

'Do tell.'

'Look, this is none of your business,' Draco protested, but Potter twitched his wand threateningly, and Draco, in the interests of pure self-preservation, said, 'It's just that Ginny's never paid attention to me before, or if she did she never showed it. And besides, I needed that book!'

'Like you ever do homework. What book was it?'

'That Dementor book Holloway assigned us. And it wasn't just for homework,' Draco said darkly, then instantly regretted it.

'What do you mean?' Potter said sharply.

Draco felt himself grow hot in the face. 'I can't tell you.'

'Yes, you can.'

'No, I can't! If my father found out I'd told anyone, he'd kill me--'

'He's going to kill you anyway, isn't he?' Potter said lightly, eyebrows raised.

Draco put his head in his hands. 'Yes,' he mumbled into them. Fuck, this day couldn't get much worse.

'What?'

'Yes,' he repeated, removing his hands.

'And if your father has anything to do with it, then Voldemort--'

Draco flinched.

'--is bound to be in there somewhere. So,' said Potter, stepping closer, his wand now trained on Draco's chest, 'tell me what you know of Voldemort's plans.'

'Don't say the name,' Draco hissed.

'Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort!' Potter chanted.

Draco covered his ears. Potter reached out and forced his hands off. Draco was surprised at the sheer force the other boy had in his grip; he looked far too weedy and skinny to have any muscle on him.

'Tell me what Voldemort's going to do,' Potter insisted.

Draco shuddered at the name. 'I can't...'

'Or I can take you up to Dumbledore and you can tell him,' Potter offered, smiling pleasantly.

'No!' Draco said at once. 'No, I don't want to get Dumbledore involved.'

Potter raised his eyebrows again. 'Why not?'

'Why do you care?' Draco shouted.

Potter took a step forward and grabbed Draco by the front of his robes. They were now face to face. 'Because,' he said softly but intently, 'it's my job. My destiny, my fucking fate as the fucking Chosen One.'

Draco started to scoff, but then he took a good look at Potter's eyes. They were very green, something which he'd alread known; but up close they were startling, almost inhuman, in their intensity. Potter's expression was hard and cold, and made something stir down in Draco's gut. He hoped it wasn't respect, though he had a sinking feeling it might be.

To cover his surprise, Draco retorted, 'Oh, so even you believe the rubbish the _Prophet's_ spewing these days?'

'It's not rubbish,' Potter said flatly. 'There's a real prophecy, or at least there was, in the Department of Mysteries, involving me and Voldemort--oh, get over it!' he said, as Draco winced. 'The prophecy says that I am the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord, that I am his equal, and that I have a power he knows not.'

'What kind of power?'

'Buggered if I know,' Potter said. He took a step back and became a teenager once more. 'Dumbledore goes on about how I can love--'

Draco snorted. 'What, he expects you to snuggle the Dark Lord to his doom?'

'Very funny,' Potter spat. He sighed, and said, 'Honestly, I don't know. But that's not what we're talking about,' he said abruptly. He put his wand down at his side, but kept it in his hand. 'What are Voldemort's plans?'

Draco hesitated. On the one hand, his father would be extremely angry if he believed that Draco was going to elope with a Mudblood, and might even try to kill him; but on the other hand, revealing what he knew of the Dark Lord's plans would be choosing sides in a conflict which he really wanted to stay out of.

'I can't tell you,' he finally said.

Potter let out a growl of rage and brought the wand up again, but this time Draco was able to pull his own out and hold it up in defence.

'No, listen to me,' he said quickly. 'I told you about Ginny, and I swear I didn't mean for it to get out of hand like this, really--but I just _can't_ tell you what I know about the Death Eaters. Firstly, because all I have are rumours, nothing specific, and secondly, it's not my fight. I'm not a Death Eater, Potter,' he said, and Potter twisted his lips sceptically. Draco rolled up his left sleeve and showed his forearm to Potter, whose eyes flicked to it only for a moment. 'I'm not a Death Eater,' Draco repeated, 'nor do I plan on becoming one.'

It was only the second time he'd told anyone this. He felt funny.

'Your father--' Potter began.

'--is into politics,' Draco said. 'I'm not.'

'But you hate Muggle-borns.'

'That doesn't mean I want to go killing them off,' Draco said patiently. He would have thought it was obvious. 'They're different things, aren't they?'

'But your father is a high-ranking Death Eater.'

'My father's in prison, Potter,' Draco said. 'Thanks to you, by the way. Do you know how unhappy that's made my mother?'

'I don't care about your mother.'

'Never having had one yourself,' Draco retorted; then, as he couldn't resist, he added, 'But I imagine she wouldn't have been a good one anyway, a Mudblood like her--'

With a yell of rage, Potter launched himself at Draco, who yelped and tried to get out of the way, but, backed up against the teacher's desk, couldn't go very far. Potter was on top of him in a few seconds. Having again forgotten about his wand, which Draco had heard clatter to the floor, Potter straddled Draco's hips and held him down at the shoulders.

'Don't insult my mother!'

Draco felt extremely awkward: not only was Potter shouting in his face again, he had another boy straddling him the way a girl might just before certain sexual acts. His face went hot, and to his most acute, horrifying embarrassment, he felt his body responding in the way it usually did.

Potter went very, very still and silent. His breath hitched. His eyes met Draco's, and Draco saw something akin to fear in his expression.

With a sudden gasp, Potter wrenched himself up off Draco. He stood for a second, staring at the other boy, then snatched up his wand and ran out of the classroom, leaving Draco lying on the floor feeling bruised and embarrassed.

Great. Now everyone would think Draco liked blokes, too.


	14. Revelations

**Author Notes**: Thanks to my betas, Jess and Alex.

**Chapter Fourteen**

Ginny hadn't really been planning on telling Harry everything, but they'd met each other just outside the Great Hall after her Potions lesson.

'What's got you looking so worried?' Harry asked her.

'Oh, Snape gave me a week's detention. It's nothing,' she said, trying to pass it off, but Harry wasn't to be put off so easily. He grabbed her, pulled her aside into an empty closet, and then listened as Ginny recounted everything that had happened since the Library incident.

'You won't hurt him, will you?' she asked, as Harry opened the door to the cupboard fifteen minutes later.

'Why shouldn't I? Look at what he's done!'

'But I don't know if he really meant all of it to happen like this—'

'Even if he didn't mean it, it's still his fault.'

'Harry, please,' Ginny pleaded, knowing full well what Harry could do to Malfoy when enraged. 'At least give him a minute to explain.'

And now, half an hour later, Ginny was still waiting in the Great Hall for Harry to return. She thought they ought to have finished their discussion by now, but if it had turned nasty they might both be up in the Hospital Wing. And knowing those boys, it probably had. Sighing, she pushed her plate away and got up.

Charlotte and Lisa looked at her questioningly.

'I'm just going up to the dormitory to finish the reading,' Ginny lied. 'I'll see you in Defence.'

Her friends nodded and continued chatting about Maddy Chambers' new haircut.

Ginny left the Great Hall and walked quickly up to the Hospital Wing, but it was completely empty except for poor third-year Adelina Young, who had fallen afoul of the Venomous Tentacula in Herbology and was still completely unconscious.

Thinking that perhaps Harry and Draco might not have finished their 'discussion' yet, Ginny went back down to the dungeons, but she only saw Snape, sitting at his desk marking homework. She quickly scurried past his door before he could give her any more detention. She listened at all the doors but couldn't hear anything.

Ginny considered checking every boys' toilet to see if Harry was in there, but that would probably arouse gossip, and as neither boy was in the Hospital Wing nor were they still arguing, her immediate concerns faded. She did actually need to go up to the Tower to get her books for Defence Against the Dark Arts, so she hurried up through the castle again to the Gryffindor common room—

—where she finally found Harry, sitting in an armchair near the fire and staring into space. Ginny went over to him.

'Harry?' she asked. 'Are you okay? What happened with Malfoy?'

'What?' he asked blankly, then suddenly looked oddly defensive. 'Malfoy? Oh. Nothing happened with Malfoy. Why do you ask?'

'Well, last I knew you were going off to possibly beat him to a bloody pulp.'

'Oh,' said Harry. 'Oh, right. Um, well, I found him, and he, well, he told me he wasn't a Death Eater, and then… well, that was about it.'

Ginny narrowed her eyes.

'Harry, what happened?' she asked. 'You look all out-of-sorts.'

Harry looked up at her, his eyes wide. He looked around the common room, which was completely deserted, what with everyone at lunch. 'Can you keep a secret?' he whispered.

'Of course I can, you know that.'

'Right. Right, of course you can.' Harry seemed to be steeling himself to say something. He kept looking at Ginny and then glancing away again.

'What is it?' Ginny asked gently. Harry was clearly distressed. 'Did something happen with Malfoy? Did you kill him accidentally?'

Harry started, then laughed. 'No, no, I didn't. Though I wouldn't be surprised if he wants to kill me now.'

'What did you _do_ to him, Harry?'

'I—I sat on him.'

Ginny gaped. 'You _what_?'

'I sat on him,' Harry repeated. 'He'd insulted my mother, and I got mad and threw him down and was sitting on him, and then—then he—' He swallowed, then said very softly, 'Ginny, he was up.'

'He was… what?'

'Up!' Harry repeated. He had gone very pink. 'Malfoy was _up_.'

'You mean he stood—Oh.' Ginny suddenly understood, and felt herself going a little pink as well. 'Oh, my.'

'Yeah.'

'You think… you think he likes you?'

Harry ran a hand through his hair. 'I don't know… I mean, it's not always something you can control…'

Ginny waited silently.

'And he's clearly into girls, isn't he? He's slept with enough of them, and rumour says that he's quite good, so obviously he's got no hangups there.'

Ginny nodded. She'd heard quite enough of those rumours. 'So it was just an involuntary reaction, you think?'

'Yeah, maybe,' Harry said. But he didn't look comforted.

'But then what's bothering you?' Suddenly, Ginny thought she knew, but waited for Harry to make his confession.

'You swear you won't tell anyone?' Harry pressed her. 'You swear?'

'I promise. I won't tell a soul.'

Harry looked around to make sure the common room was still empty. It was. He leaned forward and said very quietly, 'I…I liked it. I liked it, Ginny, knowing that I was arousing him, and that he was underneath me and—' He broke off and looked her questioningly in the eyes. 'And now it kind of makes sense that none of my girlfriends ever really worked.' He looked away again. 'I'm not into girls, am I?'

'You think you might be gay?' Ginny said, aiming for a tone of voice that was sympathetic but not judgmental.

Harry nodded and bit his lip. He looked forlorn.

'Well, there's nothing wrong with it,' Ginny said matter-of-factly.

'I know there's not,' said Harry, though quite clearly thinking the opposite, 'but it's just weird. I mean, that it should happen to me. I never thought… I always assumed that I'd be normal. My uncle always went on about me being a freak because of my magic, and now… I guess he's right.'

'You're not a freak, Harry,' Ginny said. 'Really, it's okay.'

'Is it so common in the Wizarding world?' Harry asked.

'Well, not really…'

Harry sighed.

'…but it happens, and people don't make a big deal out of it,' she assured him.

'Well, I can't be sure yet,' Harry said, as if comforting himself. 'I mean, it was just one incident, and it could mean anything…'

'Of course it could mean anything,' said Ginny soothingly. 'Don't worry about it.'

'I won't,' said Harry, and again Ginny knew he was lying.

The bell rang to signal the end of lunch, and both jumped.

'I should go,' Ginny said.

'Can we talk again later?' Harry asked, deliberately casual.

'Of course,' Ginny said at once. 'I've got a free period after Defence.'

'I've got Transfiguration all afternoon,' said Harry. 'But maybe after dinner?'

'Okay.' On an impulse, Ginny reached down and gave the trembling Harry a hug.

'Oy!' came a voice. Ron had entered the common room. 'I don't want to see my sister behaving like that in public!'

Ginny broke away from Harry, who she saw had plastered a look of neutrality on his face, and turned to her brother, irritated. 'It's just a hug, Ron, get over yourself.'

'All I could see was my sister bending over some bloke! You could have been doing anything!' Ron said. He rounded on Harry. 'I don't want to see you feeling up my sister—'

'Ron, it was just a hug,' Harry said firmly. 'I'm not interested in your sister.'

'You're not?'

'Nope. Not in the slightest.' Harry shot Ginny a wry grin.

'Oh. Well, good,' said Ron, who didn't seem to know what to do with his anger now that it didn't have a target. 'It had better stay that way.'

'Oh, it will,' said Harry, though now his smile was slightly sad.


	15. The Day of Judgment

**Author Notes**: Thanks to my betas, Jess and Alex.

**Chapter Fifteen**

Draco had a difficult week following his confrontation with Potter in the dungeons. He was constantly looking over his shoulder, expecting to see Pansy or Millicent coming at him with a deadly curse, or waiting for the rumour mill to suddenly erupt with the assertion that Draco Malfoy was gay and had the hots for Harry Potter. Even worse, he kept watching the front pages of the _Prophet_ for a big bold proclamation that Lucius Malfoy had escaped Azkaban and had put a price on his Mudblood-loving son's head.

He still hadn't written home. He knew he ought to, but he thought that taking Professor Snape's advice would, somehow, validate his actions. Really, he was just doing what he'd been told to do.

Along with the problems of what to do about Pansy, and worrying that one of his classmates would come after him, and wondering if his father really did want him to be a Death Eater, and hoping that no one would find out what had happened between him and Potter, he was also still finding himself obsessed with Ginny Weasley, and he wasn't happy about it.

After pinning her against the wall a week ago, his dreams at night were filled with extensions of the situation where he took the action further and pinned her with his full body, rubbing against her as she moaned and writhed with pleasure. Sometimes she struggled against him, which made the ecstasy all the more forbidden--

But why forbidden? She was a pureblood.

A blood-traitor pureblood, and the Malfoys and Weasleys have been feuding for centuries, his pride told him.

Still, she was extremely hot, and there was no reason for him to stop fantasizing over her. He didn't have to _like_ her or anything to want to get into her knickers.

He looked at her, sitting at the Gryffindor table in silence, engrossed in a book, eating her breakfast methodically. He remembered how she'd looked the day after he'd kissed her, her finger on her lips, no doubt remembering the kiss.

Unbidden, he imagined what it would be like to kiss her again, this time having her respond, then to get his hands under her robes, to feel the soft bits and pieces, to put his mouth in unspeakable places and feel her wriggle and writhe, to--

He shifted on the bench, then glanced up apprehensively as the post arrived.

With horror, he saw that his eagle owl was winging its way towards him, an envelope clamped in its beak. Within seconds it had deposited the letter in the remains of his toast and flown off without so much as a drink of water.

The day of judgment had come.

Draco looked up and around at his tablemates. Apart from Greg and Vince, who were so focused on making sure their forks got to their mouths that they couldn't pay attention to anything else, the entire table was looking at him expectantly. Even Pansy had deigned to look in his direction, but her look of gleeful anticipation didn't make him feel any better.

Shit, shit, shittedy-shit.

The envelope shook slightly as he took his knife and slit it open. A single piece of parchment slid out and lay itself, with a soft squelching thud, perfectly flat on the table in front of him. It bore his father's handwriting.

_Draco,_ _Failure and weakness are two qualities not permitted in a Malfoy. Failure, which is the act of not doing what is expected, is the standard of behavior in lesser creatures, in those who have no pride and no honour. Weakness, which is the act of succumbing to temptation of any sort, has no place in a child of the Malfoy line, and has never been something of which we have been accused by our peers._ _Until now._ _My son, thou hast failed me. Those who fail do not deserve the privileges of my family; for it is writ that failure is the deepest of offences and shall be cast out or stricken from the line. Consider your ancestors, those mighty wizards who made the family what it is today, what we are proud to carry on._ _I shall give thee but one chance to redeem thyself. Thou art my progeny, hence thou art surely clever, resourceful, and cunning. I trust thee; and I hope this is not a failing of mine. Do not cause me regret._ _Lucius_

Draco took several deep breaths, giving his chaotic thoughts a bit of time to sort themselves out.

The first thing he thought of, and it was with guilty relief that he thought it, was that he was still alive. His father would never wish to harm his only son, and Draco had been stupid to think otherwise.

He wasn't out of the woods yet, though. That part about _stricken from the line_--he knew exactly what that meant. He would be removed from the family tree, cast out like so many other blood traitors. He'd be without inheritance, without connections, without anything, if he didn't fix the situation.

Lucius was spitting mad, obviously because Pansy had broken the engagement and Draco hadn't written to say so. Lucius wasn't angry because Draco had supposedly fallen for the Mudblood. There was nothing in the letter about Granger at all. Snape had been right: Lucius had seen Pansy's cattiness and tricks for exactly what they were.

He read on:

_I shall give thee but one chance to redeem thyself._

That clearly meant that Lucius was expecting Draco to be currently in the process of reinstating the engagement. Lucius would never believe that his son had given up on the family, which was why Draco had been given the one chance. No doubt he was just getting impatient. This letter was simply a nudge for Draco to hurry up and get on with it, because his father loved him and didn't want to have to disown him for the sake of the family name. To make things right, all Draco had to do was get Pansy back... somehow. Flowers, cards, Granger's head roasted on a platter?

Maybe Draco ought to strike a bargain with her. After all, marrying was certainly in both their best interests: the pureblood families were starting to get smaller and smaller, and Pansy's only other halfway decent option was Malcom Baddock. The Baddocks were almost as wealthy as the Malfoys, but nowhere near as old nor as venerated a line. Plus, Malcom was younger than Pansy, extremely dull--there were some nasty rumors of a half-troll on the mother's side--and very, very ugly.

Draco was a good catch and he knew it. A bargain was definitely the right thing, the Slytherin thing, to do. But what could he offer? About the only thing he had that she'd ever wanted was sex, but he wasn't quite as convinced any more that she actually enjoyed it. Maybe he could learn more, make it more pleasurable for her. Surely there was a book or two in the library about witch anatomy and how to take advantage of it...

'Letter from home?' said a snide voice.

Draco whirled around. While he'd been staring off into the distance, the object of his wonderings had come over to stand behind him, just as she had two weeks ago--had it only been two weeks?

'Yes,' said Draco coldly. Then he remembered he had to be nice to her, and said again, 'Yes. My father, about you.'

'About me?'

For a moment, Draco was convinced by her attitude of surprise. 'Yes, darling, about you.'

Her eyes narrowed at the 'darling'.

'Pansy, love, how would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?' Draco asked. 'So we can discuss, ah, possible arrangements? To our mutual benefit?'

'If you really think I still want to have anything to do with you when you're going to go off consorting with Mudbloods and Mugglelovers, you must be--'

'I am not consorting with them!' Draco protested.

'Your father thinks you are,' Pansy announced quickly, obviously considering that this should come as a shock.

'Yes, I know he thinks I am,' Draco said. 'You told him I was in love with Hermione Granger.'

'How did you--'

'I have connections, okay?' Draco said tightly. 'If it weren't my own head you're trying to condemn, Pansy, I would compliment you. You've really worked this the right way. But it is my head we're talking about, and I rather like it. So, unless you want me to tell your mother that you've got your eyes on Potter--'

'You're trying to blackmail me?' Pansy laughed. 'Me? And Potter?' She guffawed loudly, attracting far more attention from the Great Hall than Draco would have preferred. 'You've obviously been spending too much time in the library, Draco. Studying with your new Mudblood girlfriend?'

Draco growled, 'There's nothing between--'

But Pansy continued, in a carrying voice, 'You've not heard the latest, then, have you? Everyone's talking about it, about how you and Potter were in an empty classroom together, and how Potter came out looking all hot and bothered.' She smirked, clearly enjoying her tale and the sensation she was causing.

Draco stared at her, aghast but trying not to show it. The corridor had been empty when he'd left the classroom.

'Potter has a crush on you, Draco. His _preferences_ lie on the other side of the fence.' Pansy snickered. 'Watch your arse, Draco.'

'Pansy, listen to me,' Draco said in a low voice. 'I'll get a basket from the house-elves and we can go down to the lake. I could try out some things I've read about recently. Does that sound nice?'

'It sounds like the worst possible evening I could possibly spend. Drop dead, Draco,' Pansy spat, then added coldly, 'but you won't need my help with that.' She turned on her heel and flounced out of the hall.

Draco looked around the Great Hall and realized that almost everyone was staring at him. There was a time when he would have glared, or sneered, or told everyone to fuck off despite the presence of half-a-dozen teachers at the High Table, but now he was simply tired.

Picking up his bag and his father's letter, Draco trudged out of the Great Hall. He wasn't sure where he was going... maybe he'd drown himself in the lake.


	16. Comprehension

**Chapter Sixteen**

As soon as Draco's cloak had vanished out of sight through the doors, the entire Great Hall broke into babble.

Ginny snatched up her bag and swung her legs over the bench. She was certain that he ought not to be alone, though how she knew she didn't know.

'Where are you going?' asked Harry, who looked pale at the prospect of having just been outed by Pansy.

'To find Draco,' Ginny said in a low voice. Harry would have plenty of support, judging by Hermione's expression.

She reached the entrance hall just in time to see Draco disappearing out through the front doors. Breaking into a run, she caught up with him at the vegetable patch.

'What do you want?' Draco asked as Ginny came up alongside him. He sped up slightly as the ground sloped downwards, but didn't try to shake her off.

'Just to make sure you're all right,' Ginny said with a shrug, falling into step a little behind him.

Draco laughed. 'I thought you didn't give a fuck what happened to me?'

'I didn't.'

Draco stopped short, and Ginny bumped into him. He felt very solid.

'Past tense?'

'Yes.'

'What changed?' Draco had turned around and was now looking at her.

'Honestly? I have no idea.'

They stared at each other. It was an awkward moment; Draco searched Ginny's face and Ginny searched his, wondering what was going to happen.

'Does Potter really have a crush on me?' Draco asked, finally breaking eye contact and continuing to walk.

Ginny followed, considering how to answer. Finally she said, 'Well, he was definitely shocked by what happened in that classroom.'

'Oh,' said Draco heavily.

'But I don't think he really has a crush on you. I think he's more confused than anything.'

'Is he really... I mean, does he really...'

'Is he gay?' Ginny said, amused that Draco had trouble with the word. 'Maybe.'

'Maybe!'

'Maybe,' Ginny repeated. 'It's not my place to say these things...'

'But you're going to anyway,' Draco smirked.

'Well, he can't be sure yet,' Ginny said. 'He's only had a little while to think about it, you know.'

'It would explain a lot,' Draco mused. 'He's never been able to keep a girlfriend more than a month or so.'

Ginny nodded.

They had reached the bottom of the sloping lawns, where a few stray trees cast what shade they could with their early spring leaves.

'Shouldn't you be in a lesson?' Ginny asked, looking at Draco.

'Free period,' he said. 'And you?'

'Herbology,' Ginny replied, 'but Sprout's pretty lenient. I have twenty minutes at least.'

Another long moment of silence seemed to stretch its legs and then wander off towards the castle. Ginny found herself studying Draco's face, noticing exactly the sweep of his chin and the fall of his hair. For a moment his face looked completely unfamiliar as she noticed new lines and shapes, but then the newness melded with the oldness and he looked like himself again. Draco was equally studying her face, but this time it didn't seem awkward, which in itself felt strange.

Ginny watched passively, waiting for Draco to make the next move. Would he try to kiss her again? If he did, what would she do? What if he didn't try to kiss her? Maybe she ought to make the first move.

But for a good minute or two, they simply looked at each other.

Finally, Ginny broke the silence.

'What happens now?'

'What do you mean?' Draco asked, blinking as though coming out of a deep reverie.

'Aren't we supposed to have a long talk or something?'

'About what, feelings?'

Ginny shrugged. 'Well, what are your feelings?'

Draco looked at her coldly. 'I'm not in love with you, if that's what you're hoping.'

'I wasn't. What are you in, then?' Ginny asked.

Draco shrugged, the sudden coldness falling away as quickly as it had appeared. 'Apart from wanting to get my hands up your skirt, I'm not sure.'

Ginny raised her eyebrows. 'You're in lust?'

'Sure, if that's what you want to call it.'

'Then why aren't you attacking me and taking what you want?' Ginny asked.

'Maybe because if I do anything, Potter and Weasley will tear my throat out.'

'Do you want me to call them off? I can do that, you know,' Ginny said, not entirely sure how serious she was.

Draco shrugged, then changed the subject. 'I got a letter from my father,' he said, pulling it out of his pocket and handing it to her.

As Ginny read the letter, her stomach grew tenser with every word. 'This is horrid!' she exclaimed when she'd finished.

'What? Why? He's mad about Pansy breaking off the engagement--he wants me to reinstate it, that's all.'

'You have no clue,' Ginny said callously. 'Don't you see? Failure and weakness... he's talking about Hermione.' She shook the letter vehemently.

'But how is Granger any sort of temptation to me?' Draco asked, furrowing his brow.

'If Pansy told him that you're in love with Hermione, then he'll think that she tempts you, won't he? How could you miss that?'

Draco stared at her, then snatched the letter up again. As he read it through, Ginny watched his face go from pale to paler. He looked as if he'd rather like to sit down heavily, but there was nowhere to sit.

'Sweet Merlin,' he breathed. His eyes were wide.

'I don't suppose _I told you so_ would be appropriate?' Ginny said.

'Shut up,' Draco said, panicked. 'Fuck, what do I do? If he doesn't care about the Pansy thing, and he thinks I'm about to elope with Granger...' He ran his hands through his hair, which then fell back unkempt. 'What does he expect me to do to redeem myself, then? Kill Granger and present her head on a platter?' He chewed his lip thoughtfully. 'Maybe if I ambush her outside of Potions...'

'You can't be serious,' Ginny proclaimed.

'Don't worry, I'm not,' Draco said dismissively. 'But obviously, something has to be done.'

Ginny snorted. 'Obviously!'

Draco was now pacing up and down in front of her. Ginny watched his body move, quietly enjoying the sight and feeling unabashedly lustful.

'We could just tell the truth,' she suggested half-heartedly.

'Oh, I'm sure he'll love that. A Malfoy and a Weasley! If I tell my father anything about... about us...' Draco trailed off.

'Us?' repeated Ginny. 'I thought it was just lust. Since when is there an _us_?'

'Ever since I kissed you in the library,' Draco answered, as if it ought to be obvious. 'Ever since Pansy set my own father against me. Since you followed me out of the Great Hall--I'm sure everyone noticed. It's going to get around. I thought the thing with Potter would be completely secret, but somehow Pansy found out.'

Ginny wasn't listening very well. She was startled at the concept of belonging to an 'us' involving Draco Malfoy, of all people.

'Anyway,' Draco was saying, 'what are your parents going to say when they find out you've been hanging around with me? You can't possibly imagine they'll welcome me with open arms.'

'No,' Ginny said slowly. 'No, they won't. In fact, they'll probably be furious with me.' She sighed, imagining the scene. She could hear her mother raging against the Malfoys in general, and her father going on about how disappointed he was--again--at Ginny's decision.

'But if we don't get the truth out,' she said, 'then your father will still think you're in love with Hermione. Which is worse?'

'You, definitely,' Draco said at once.

Ginny glared. Then she glanced up towards the castle; there was a babble of voices that sounded like students coming down to Herbology.

'I'd better go,' she said to Draco.

But as she turned to go, Draco suddenly grabbed her, and Ginny found herself crushed in a kiss that was so violent it was almost unpleasant. She pushed away, breaking free only with extreme effort.

'What the bloody hell was that for?' she asked angrily, wiping her mouth on her sleeve, half-expecting blood.

Draco's eyes glittered. 'Because I could,' he said.

'Well, there are a lot better ways to kiss than that, you know! And if you want more, you'd better learn them!'

Draco raised an eyebrow. 'Oh, I know how to kiss,' he said.

Ginny crossed her arms, feeling unreal as she challenged, 'Prove it.'

She knew what would happen before Draco did it. It was once again out of those wireless melodramas, and she almost wanted to laugh, except that she had no breath left as Draco approached her.

He put out one hand and tilted her chin up, then gently brought his face down and touched his lips to hers with a delicacy that itself made the kiss unbearably intense. Ginny thought her knees would give way, but even if they did, Draco had entwined one hand in hers and could catch her if she fell. After a few seconds of lips on lips, they broke apart, and Ginny opened eyes she hadn't known she'd closed.

'I'd better go to Herbology,' she said, avoiding Draco's gaze, because she was frightened of what she might see there. His hand was still entangled in hers.

'Right,' she heard him say.

Ginny left, not looking back.


	17. Acceptance

**Chapter Seventeen: Acceptance**

Draco stood watching Ginny climb the sloping lawns up to the greenhouses. He could just make out her vivid hair as she joined the gaggle of other students, and then even her hair disappeared through one of the doors.

Draco felt odd. He knew that he'd just made a huge, life-changing decision, but the birds were still singing with over-effusive exuberance, the wind was still blowing gustily, and the water still lapped at the lakeside. The world had not stood still for him, and he was a little miffed. Shouldn't everything be different now? Shouldn't there be celebrations and revelations and front-page reports?

It wasn't just that he'd deliberately kissed a Weasley, although that was certainly something to worry about. Several dozen generations had passed since the Weasleys and Malfoys had last been on speaking terms, much less affable toward each other. When word got out, there would be quite the uproar, and Draco wasn't sure if he was more amused or frightened by it. The whole idea seemed odd -- these were supposed to be his wild years, weren't they? No one should really care who he snogged.

No, it wasn't the kiss, or the lust, or even the budding romance, which even he could see. It was that they had spoken to each other like friends, and that by befriending a Weasley, Draco had just thrown his lot in with Dumbledore's crowd.

It was one thing to tell Ginny, or even the Boy Who Lived, that he didn't plan on being a Death Eater, but quite another to fraternize with the enemy, as it were. The enemy...

Draco re-read his father's letter, which now made a great deal more sense. His father thought Hermione Granger was the object of his affections, and wanted him to prove his loyalty to the Dark Lord before the time came for him to take the Dark Mark.

Draco ground his teeth. When had his father decided to make that particular unilateral decision? Draco supposed he hadn't listened properly at dinner one night, though now it seemed that Lucius wouldn't have been quite as obvious about it. He couldn't exactly imagine his father saying, _Now, Draco, be sure to comport yourself with dignity when the Dark Lord burns a ghastly, ugly tattoo into your forearm..._ He thought back to all the letters he'd received since his father had landed in Azkaban. Why hadn't he realised it earlier?

Because all Draco ever thought about was girls and Quidditch.

He wanted to rail at himself, to feel angry and galvanized into action by this discovery, but all he felt was a half-hearted numbness. It was all too far away. _Politics_, he thought with contempt.

But this was more than just politics, Draco told himself; he knew it would not sink in until he gave himself a stern talking-to. This was family business, this involved someone who was supposed to care for him.

Draco repeated that particlar phrase until it seemed to have sunk in. His father, who was supposed to love him unconditionally, intended him to become a Death Eater.

His father planned to give him over to the Dark Lord.

Lucius valued his own place in the Dark Lord's circle more than his son's life.

Draco shuddered, despite the warming sun. When he thought of it that way, he felt physically ill.

He thought back to when he had merely been afraid that his father would disown him. Now, that seemed an easy fate: simple wrath over the sullying of the Malfoy line. Worst consequence was death, which, no matter how much torture Lucius wrought before the end, was still an end. Eternal servitude to You-Know-Who, however, was simply _gross_. Who wanted to waste their time with things like war when there were so many pretty girls around? Like Ginny.

Ginny.

Gah.

Draco blinked and looked around, mildly surprised that he was still standing under the trees. The grounds appeared deserted. He considered for a moment going up to the castle, but decided that would only annoy him. Instead, he Transfigured a nearby rock into a blanket and set down his bag, then lay down and stared up at the pale sky.

For a long time Draco lay on his back, letting his mind drift from topic to topic, giving it free range. It felt easier not to think about his father's... _nastiness_. He couldn't bring himself to use the word 'evil', not even in his head, not yet. He remembered, instead, good memories of childhood, of his father's kindnesses: teaching him how to fly when he'd been seven, not laughing when he'd fallen and cracked his head on his first try; celebrating with Narcissa when five-year-old Draco's accidental magic had turned his hair bright green; Lucius's long, stern lectures that, though slightly scary, had always made him understand that Lucius only wanted the best for Draco...

But now, Draco thought angrily, glaring at the placid, silent sky, Lucius only wanted the best for himself. Wanted to use his son as a bargaining chip, Draco sneered. Politics, always politics. Lucius had always been like that, Draco now realized. Considering his childhood, he realized it had always been tit-for-tat, eye-for-an-eye, the punishment fitting the crime. Draco had once broken into his father's study to see what sort of books Lucius kept in there, and Lucius, in order to prove his point that Draco wasn't ready for such knowledge, performed a number of Dark curses on him. It had taken six months for his toes to grow back properly, and his left buttock had never quite looked right ever since.

But despite such hard punishment, Draco had always thought that his father loved him, that his father would defend him against enemies, would put him above everything else--

_Potter's parents had died for him_

--would always support him. Of course, Draco had known from an early age that this love came with a caveat: Malfoys have certain standards. There was no way Draco would get away with just anything, but Draco had never wanted 'just anything'. He wanted the easy life, the path of least resistance.

And so far, that path had included following his father's suggestions for friends, doing what he'd been trained to do, and occasionally making mischief for the amusements of his Slytherin companions.

But now his father quite clearly wanted him to join the Death Eaters, and that was far too messy and mucky and, well, _hard_. There weren't that many girls in the Death Eaters, unless you counted Aunt Bella and a few of her old chums, and there wouldn't be any kind of flirtation allowed, he was sure. And there was that whole thing of torturing and killing other people, as well as risking torture from the Dark Lord, and he really didn't want that. He realised that this was more than just his personality rebelling; it was that strange part of him he'd come to call a conscience.

Draco wondered if it would feel the same if his father had simply died, rather than turning against him, and decided this was decidedly worse. Not only could he no longer rely on Lucius, but Draco was now on the Wrong Side of things, having discovered a conscience.

For a split second, Draco envied people like Hannah Abbott, brought up without expectations beyond clean teeth and decent marks.

Then he sighed, wiped his eyes, and rolled over onto his feet, gathering up his bag. If he was going to be dragged into politics, he decided, he'd better get on the side where they didn't torture you if you messed up.

He tried to pretend that the fact that Ginny was on that side, and would admire him for choosing it, was not really important, then gave up and admitted that she really wasn't so bad after all. And she could kiss, which was nice.

And now that he'd decided which side of the war he was on, he could finally go to the library and get some studying done.


	18. Turning Point

**Chapter Eighteen: Turning Point**

As Ginny entered the greenhouses behind Luna Lovegood, she saw her friend Charlotte frantically waving her over, clearly wanting to hear the gossip. Ginny, however, didn't feel in the least like talking, especially not about Draco, so she pretended not to see and instead took up a position next to Luna, on the far side of the enormous Devil's Snare from Charlotte. While they tried to prune the bad-tempered plant, Ginny let Luna's monologue about the Ministry, vampires, and some new form of elephant asparagus wash over her.

She kept reliving the fifteen minutes down at the lake, wondering what Draco was now thinking, what he was going to do, if he would be all right, and what the school was saying about her. If it was just lust, then why had he kissed her so tenderly? Was tender even the right word? Draco Malfoy and 'tender' didn't even fit in the same paragraph!

Ginny hissed in pain as a tentacle caught her just over the eye.

'Careful there, Miss Weasley!' called Sprout reprovingly. 'You need to pay better attention. You're lucky it's only a scratch; you could have lost an eye there!'

'Sorry, Professor,' Ginny said, wiping the blood from her forehead and forcing herself to pay better attention to her task.

It was only when class was over and they were all walking back to the castle that Ginny realised that she hadn't heard anyone talking about her, or about Draco, or even about Harry. They should have been, she thought, confused, and wondering if she was being vain to think that Harry Potter's sexuality would be of interest to most of the upper forms.

Instead, she kept hearing 'Madam Bones' and things like 'They say she took three of them out' and 'Nasty way to die, isn't it?'

Ginny looked around at people, wondering what was going on. She'd not read the paper that morning. Had someone been killed?

'Do you have a copy of the paper?' she asked a nearby second-year boy, who gave her one startled, round-eyed look, then nodded nervously and fished a crumpled _Daily Prophet_ out of a messy bag.

Ginny uncrinkled the paper and let out a long, slow sigh of exhaustion. It would never end, would it?

_Minister Bones murdered!_ _Amelia Bones, after only a month in power, was killed yesterday night while exiting the Ministry buildings. For reasons unknown, she had chosen not to use the secured Floo Network or to Apparate, but left via the Visitor's Entrance. Muggle eyewitnesses report that she exited the 'telephone box' which serves as the entrance, and appeared to collapse on her own. The most probable cause of death, according to general opinion, is the Killing Curse._ _Aurors, alerted to the murder by the presence of the Dark Mark, Apparated in and secured the area. No Death Eaters were found in the vicinity, though one was apprehended in the Ministry's entrance hall by watchwizard Eric Munch, who is now in St Mungo's recovering from the altercation. (For the interview with Mr Munch, see p 14.)_ _Rufus Scrimgeour, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, will become Acting Minister for Magic until elections are held next week. Nominations are due day after tomorrow, but it is widely believed that Scrimgeour will be running, as well as Dolores Umbridge and Arthur Weasley (see p 5 for details)._

The article continued for a few more paragraphs, detailing the latest Death Eater activity and repeating the usual pleas for witches and wizards to come forward if they had any information. Ginny sighed and folded the paper over to the next page. 'Can I keep this?' she asked the second-year, who was still standing half-gaping at her.

The boy squeaked something that sounded like a yes, stared at her for a further two seconds, and then scampered away up the hallway.

Ginny flipped to page five to read the biographies of the rumoured Ministerial candidates. She wondered how Mum was reacting, and how Percy would feel if Dad did win the post. As she read the article, she was pleased to see that, for once, the _Prophet_ had painted her father in a good light:

_Arthur Weasley, long known as one of the firmest supporters of Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter, has until recently been quiet in the political arena. Tucked away in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, he has had many years to study the workings of the Ministry. His fondness for Muggles, often derided by some as a foolish hobby, has so far proved immensely useful to the war efforts. Full details are confidential, though several Aurors revealed that Weasley has done intense research into the area of firearms, instruments which Muggles use to kill each other from a distance._

Those on Rufus Scrimgeour and Dolores Umbridge, Ginny was happy to see, were much colder, despite their length and lists of accomplishments.

Ginny then skimmed through the rest of the paper. A sense of despair fell on her: deaths and werewolf attacks and endless horrors... The most disturbing report had been tucked away in the middle: two Muggleborn boys, too young for Hogwarts though already on the list, had both been Kissed by Dementors at a local park in the early evening.

Dementors... Ginny shuddered. Of all the terrors Voldemort could unleash, she found Dementors the worst. Inferi could be fought with fire, Death Eaters with curses and hexes, and Dark creatures with silver, garlic, and various warding charms. But Dementors... The only defence against them had to come from within. And Ginny wasn't quite sure if she had what it took.

First the first time in more than a week, she remembered the book, the one that had started all her problems with Draco, and decided she'd borrow it again. She had a good five minutes of break left.

Ginny stuffed the paper into her bag and hurried up to the library, which was mostly empty except for a handful of seventh-years. She waved hello to Lavender and Parvati, who were discussing something quietly in the corner and not giggling, and began searching the shelves. She knew where it ought to be, but it wasn't there. She examined the surrounding books to see if perhaps it had been misshelved, but still couldn't find it.

She left the stacks in search of Madam Pince, to ask if it was already checked out by someone. But she had no need to, as she saw both the book and its current borrower sitting at a table. Ginny walked over and stood behind the reader.

'I didn't know you could read, Malfoy,' she drawled, and was delighted when Draco looked up in surprise.

'What? Of course I can read!'

Obviously he didn't remember that he'd used the same line on her, so many weeks ago.

'Nevermind,' she said hastily. 'I need that book.'

'So do I,' he said. 'So will everyone, soon enough.'

Ginny sat herself down in a chair next to him. 'Did you see the paper?'

'No,' said Draco. 'What's happened?'

She pulled out the copy of the _Prophet_. 'Read.'

Draco reluctantly pulled the paper toward him. His face went blank at the headline, and he read it with lips closed tight.

'It's not just that,' Ginny said as Draco began to push the paper back toward her. She flipped the paper open to the article about the Dementors.

Draco read it.

'Isn't it awful?' Ginny said.

'Horrible,' Draco agreed brusquely, and pushed the paper back at her.

'Horrible?' repeated Ginny. 'That's all you have to say?'

Draco looked at her, surprised. 'What else is there to say? There's nothing I can do about it now.'

'But there is!' Ginny protested. 'Go to Dumbledore!'

'I don't want to go to Dumbledore.'

'Why not?'

'I may have chosen sides,' Draco hissed as softly as he could, 'but I'm not suicidal. If I tell Dumbledore, then eventually word will get around Slytherin that I'm Dumbledore's nancy boy. Spies and traitors are always revealed.'

But Ginny only heard the beginning of the sentence. 'You've chosen sides?' she asked.

'Yes.'

'You've chosen... you've decided? For sure?'

'Yes.'

'And you're on Dumbledore's side, on Harry's side, our side?'

Draco shrugged. 'At least on that side, if I screw up I know I won't be tortured by a half-blooded maniac.'

'Oh, Draco!' Ginny said, and without quite realising what she was doing, threw her arms around him and kissed him.

'Mmph!' said Draco. He wrestled himself free and pushed her away. 'Ginny!' He looked around the library, his face pale with fear. 'Anyone could see!'

Ginny pulled back. 'Oh!' she said. 'Right. So, er, I guess all of this has to stay secret?'

For a moment Ginny couldn't read Draco's expression, and she thought he might say, 'All of what?' but he didn't. He merely nodded.

'So...' said Ginny. She looked down at the book. 'You're sure you don't want to go to Dumbledore?'

'Yes,' said Draco.

'What about Snape?'

'What about him?'

'Could you go to him? He's on our...'

Ginny trailed off as Draco shook his head. 'I simply don't know what side he's on anymore. Everyone thinks he's on their side, spying on the other. For all I know he could really be on--on my father's side.' His jaw went stiff.

For a moment Ginny had a glimpse of how awful it would be to know that your father wanted you to be a Death Eater, to kill and torture people you'd never met, simply because they or their parents were Muggles.

'Well, can I at least use the book?' Ginny asked.

'When I finish with it, dummy!'

Ginny glared at him. 'Why not share it?' she proposed.

Draco looked at her as if a small and perfectly formed elderberry bush had just sprung out of her forehead. 'Are you daft, girl? Be seen studying at the same table? It's bad enough that we're talking to each other without yelling. You should just get out of here. Maybe we ought to have an argument, for proper appearances' sake--'

'Oh, fine, whatever,' said Ginny, resigned, and definitely not wanting to argue. 'Only, leave the book on the shelves so I can read it after lunch, all right?'

'Fine, all right, whatever,' said Draco, and Ginny left before anyone saw them.


	19. First Moves

**Chapter Nineteen: First Moves**

At lunch Ginny tried not to look at Draco. He was sitting apart from the rest of the Slytherin table; more than one person had 'accidentally' bumped into him and sent his food or drink flying, but no one had actually tried to hex him yet. Ginny wondered if Slytherin knew of his decision. Probably not, she reasoned, or else he'd not have made it to lunch.

Ginny sat across from Harry, who had a similar empty space around him.

'What's going on?' Ginny asked Harry, indicating what looked like a buffer zone.

Harry let out a long, distinctly shaky sigh. 'Everyone's been telling me all morning that it doesn't matter if I like boys better than girls,' he said.

'Oh?'

'Yes.' Harry skewered a potato with his fork, brought it up to eye level, then let it fall back down to the plate again, uneaten. 'But they're still treating me like I'm some kind of leper.'

'What about Ron and--'

But at that moment Ron appeared, muttering something like 'ruddy N.E.W.T.s', and slumped into the seat next to Ginny, where he proceeded to grab a bit of everything within arm's reach. Hermione sat herself in the seat next to Harry, with rather less decorum than usual.

Ginny looked from one tense face to another, then to Ron's stuffed face, and felt awkward. Who was supposed to bring what topic up, and how? Or maybe the lunch table ought to be a kind of safe zone, where Delicate Topics could be avoided like the elephants they were.

Looking at Hermione, Ginny saw her expression of uncertainty mirrored. 'So,' Hermione said, a bit too brightly, 'do you think your father will actually run for Minister?'

Ginny shot her a grateful look, and, with as much of Ron as they could entice away from the chicken, they launched into a spirited political discussion. Harry, however, seemed to prefer the company of his congealing potatoes.

After lunch Ginny had another free period; she went straight up to the library to borrow the dementor book. The hour she spent reading it only left her feeling more anxious and queasy than before.

Then came Defense Against the Dark Arts, which took up the rest of the afternoon. Holloway had moved into an in-depth study of deadly curses--not the Killing Curse, but curses that could kill--and Ginny still couldn't focus.

The gossip had been running rampant all afternoon, and although people had stared at her, all she'd heard had been about the Bones murder and Harry's sexual orientation.

'Is he really... you know?' she'd been asked more than once.

'I don't know!' she invariably replied. 'Ask him yourself!'

But of course they wouldn't.

'Is your dad really running for Minister?'

'Sorry, I've got to go.'

No one seemed to care about Draco. Except her. She wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

After dinner, Ginny sat in the common room trying to do her Herbology homework while Charlotte and Lisa whispered together and sent Harry black looks of disappointed adoration.

_Give the composition of the venom in the Venomous Tentacula._

_How deep do the Tentacula's roots go, and why is this important to know?_

Ginny stared at the questions and then at her textbook, willing the answer to highlight itself so she wouldn't have to look it up.

'Ginny!'

'What?' Glancing up, she realised that Lisa had been trying to attract her attention for the past few seconds.

'Ginny, is Harry really...?' Lisa asked in a confidential undertone.

It was one person too many, and one shade too uncaring a tone of voice. Afterwards Ginny would apologise, but now she just wanted people to stop asking.

'For fuck's sake, ask him yourself if you want to know!' she spat. 'Just leave me alone, won't you?'

Lisa looked hurt and bewildered, and blinked, on the verge of tears. But before Ginny could even start to feel apologetic, Charlotte took Lisa's arm, gave Ginny a murderous look, and escorted a trembling Lisa over to the stairs to the dormitory and out of sight.

Ginny laid her head down on her book and let out a week-long sigh of frustration, more to avoid the surprised stares of those around her than anything else.

'What was that about?'

Harry had come over, no doubt sick himself of the overly effusive 'tolerance' of his fellow Gryffindors.

'People keep asking me if you're really gay,' Ginny said, looking up at him through her hair.

'What do you tell them?'

'That it's none of my business and they should ask you if they're really curious.' Ginny lifted her head fully and pushed her hair out of her eyes. 'Has anyone?'

'No. Though Ernie Macmillan did give me a very wide smile.' Harry looked faintly ill. 'I'm glad I don't have Snape this year, or who knows what sort of torment he'd have put me through.'

'Snape's a git,' Ginny agreed, the words coming easily with the benefit of long practice.

There was a moment of silence between them; each could tell that the entire common room was watching them and pretending not to.

'Want to go to the library?' Ginny finally said.

'Sure,' said Harry with a shrug.

Ginny waited while Harry grabbed his bag, then the two of them walked to the portrait hole. The common room went quiet as they approached it, and just before the Fat Lady swung shut they could hear a babble break out.

'I'm so sick of it,' Harry said.

Ginny put a hand on his arm. 'I'm sorry.'

'You two had better hurry up and do what you're going to do; you know it's past eight o'clock!' warned the Fat Lady behind them.

They reached the library a few minutes later. Ginny wasn't surprised to see Draco sitting at a table, nor was she surprised to see that he still had the vestiges of hex marks on his hands. The reception he'd received in his common room had probably been even less friendly than the one Harry had found in the Gryffindor common room.

'Come on,' Ginny said to Harry, and tried to pull him over. When he resisted, she said, 'You really need to talk, the two of you.'

'I have nothing to say to him,' Harry said stiffly. 'His ex-girlfriend outed me this morning. I didn't even know if I--she had no right to--'

'She's Pansy, she doesn't care about rights. Besides, Draco's chosen sides; he's on our side now.'

'So he _says_,' Harry muttered darkly, but he followed her tugs nonetheless.

Draco looked up darkly, and Ginny felt a thrill of foreboding.

Please, she thought, please, just don't kill each other.


	20. The Day After

**Chapter Twenty: The Day After**

Lunchtime was miserable.

Draco was fairly certain Snape would do his best to prevent a murder at the house table, but wasn't certain exactly what Snape's 'best' might be. Draco thus kept his wand up his sleeve as he ate, and was more relieved than anything else at the two feet of pariah-space surrounding him. He made a mental note to look up Spacing Spells, or Long-Term Shields--anything to give him a few seconds' advantage if someone attacked. Maybe the Restricted Section might have something on the fabled Somebody Else's Problem transfiguration.

Thus, Draco's lunchtime misery wasn't due to any actual hexing, but rather to the murderous glares and contemptuous looks from his housemates. In one day, he had gone from the so-called Prince of Slytherin to a complete nothing. Probably, he thought glumly, he wouldn't even be able to get laid by a Hufflepuff now.

Potions was worse.

'Settle down, settle down,' Snape said idly to the N.E.W.T.-level class as they shuffled in, Draco at the back, his nerves stretched taut. 'Today we will continue work on our Healing Draughts. Your potions should have curdled well over the last week. Collect your cauldrons from the store cupboard and continue to follow the instructions on page seven-hundred three.'

With a scraping of chairs, the class stood up to fetch their congealing potions.

Draco waited until the two other Slytherins, Millicent and Blaise, had collected their cauldrons before going to get his. The moment he reached the store cupboard, behind Ernie Macmillan, he realised he'd made a terrible mistake.

His cauldron was gone. _His_ cauldron, the one his father had gifted him in his third year as a reward for the second-highest Potions marks of the year. It had the Malfoy family crest engraved on the handles, and was impossible to mistake for anyone else's.

After checking thoroughly to make sure the cauldron was actually gone, not simply hidden in a corner or Disillusioned or turned invisible, Draco began to curse himself for being so stupid as to let the Slytherins go in in front of him. Then again, he thought with a chill, a missing cauldron was nothing compared to what could have happened with Millicent at his back and Snape not in a direct line of sight.

'Right,' Draco muttered bracingly. 'Right. I'll just tell Snape that my cauldron is gone, and take it from there.'

Snape was not pleased. 'Who would steal your cauldron, Draco?' he asked with a faint smirk. 'Was it worth much?'

'About a hundred Galleons, yes,' said Draco.

'Tsk, tsk,' Snape said idly. 'What a pity. I suppose you'll just have to work with someone else.'

_Not another Slytherin, please, not another Slytherin--_

'Miss Granger.'

Draco's heart thumped in trepidation. If anyone could inflict worse damage on him than Millicent, it was certainly the Granger girl.

'Yes, Professor?'

'Mr Malfoy claims his cauldron has been stolen,' Snape announced loudly, and the class tittered. Granger, Draco was pleased to see, didn't even crack a smile. 'He will spend the remainder of the period working with you.'

'Yes, Professor.'

Draco dragged his bag over to Granger's table and slumped onto the stool beside her.

'Here,' she said, her tone chilly but at least above absolute zero, and handed him a half-dozen frog legs. 'Chop these, please.'

'Julienne or diced?'

Granger looked startled, but said, 'Julienne, as fine as possible.'

'Silver, gold, or steel?'

'Use the gold knife.' Granger gave him a puzzled, blinking look, but then bent over the textbook to read the next line of instructions.

Granger's presence next to him seemed to act as a barrier against Slytherin mischief, so Draco allowed himself to relax slightly as the class progressed. He'd never worked with Granger before, and found her surprisingly not unpleasant as a partner. She was civil, efficient, and intelligent, and their potion was by far the best of the class.

Draco knew the feeling of truce wouldn't last, though, and sure enough, when the lesson was over, Granger turned to him and said in a whisper whose lack of feeling made it scarier than if she'd shouted, 'Malfoy, if you've done anything that lowers my mark, I swear I will take a blunt knife to your testicles and make you eat them.'

'Why would I sabotage your work?' Draco asked, genuinely surprised.

Granger looked at him scornfully. 'You're a Slytherin.'

'Not anymore, or hadn't you heard?'

Draco picked up his bag and left before she could respond.

At dinner, Draco didn't eat much. Partly he was too jumpy to pay attention to his food, and partly he couldn't stop thinking of the brief exchange with Granger.

When he realized that his potatoes had gone cold and his gravy was well-congealed, he gave up dinner as a bad job. Dropping his fork on the table, he bent over to pick up his bag, which had somehow become stuck under the seat, and he had to tug at it rather violently until it came free. With both hands full of bookbag as he straightened up, Draco was unable to block the Stinging Hexes that flew at him from both sides.

He bit back a yelp and glared around the table. Every single wand was out. Not obviously pointing at him, but resting casually in hands or across napkins in such a way that he had no idea who the culprits were.

'Pathetic cowards,' he spat, his hands stinging madly, 'all of you.'

Draco stalked out of the Great Hall, across the entrance hall and back up to the library. At least there he'd be able to hear attackers coming.

About an hour later, Draco looked up from his now-familiar position at the library table to see Ginny approaching with an unexpected and unwelcome accessory.

'Come to gloat, Potter?' Draco said, feeling bitter and resentful. 'Why'd you bring him, anyway?' he demanded of Ginny.

'Because you two need to talk,' she declared.

'About what?' Draco said sullenly, and was thoroughly annoyed to hear Potter say it at the same time. He scowled.

'About the Death Eaters,' Ginny whispered impatiently.

'Oh, no we don't,' Draco said, pushing back his chair to put distance between himself and Potter. 'I told you, I can't tell you! And in any case, we can't talk here.'

Potter pulled out his wand. Draco tensed, but all Potter did was twiddle it and say, '_Muffliato!_'

'What was that?' Draco asked suspiciously.

'Muffliato.'

'Yes, I heard the incantation. What does it do?' Draco asked.

'Fills anyone nearby's head with buzzing if they try to listen in on our conversation. We can talk anywhere, Malfoy.'

Draco glared at Potter, then at Ginny. 'There's still my father,' he said to her.

'Yes, yes, we've been over that,' she said exasperatedly, sounding almost like Granger. 'He's going to kill you no matter what you do now, so why don't you at least do the right thing before you die?'

'She makes a good point,' said Potter.

'Fuck you,' said Draco. 'Fuck you both.'

He was immensely irritated. Why couldn't things go back to the way they'd been a few weeks ago, when Pansy was still an airhead and Ginny Weasley just another pretty figure? Why on earth had his emotions needed to get involved, and his conscience have to prove its hitherto-unknown existence?

'Not yet,' Ginny said. 'Not until you tell us what you know of Voldemort's plans.'

Draco was so surprised by her first comment that he forgot to be startled by the use of the Dark Lord's name in the second.

'Yet?' he said, and again spoke at the same time as Potter. 'Would you stop that?' he hissed at Potter.

'It's not my fault!' Potter protested as Ginny put her hands on her hips and glared at Draco.

'No, not _yet_. And perhaps never, if you don't put your Galleons where your gumption is! And if you're not going to tell us, why don't you tell Dumbledore, or Snape, or someone in the Or--'

'Ginny!' Harry hissed. 'Don't--'

'The Order of the Phoenix,' Draco finished for her, with a contemptuous look at Harry. 'You thought the Order were still some big secret? Not likely. Everyone knows about them, no matter what side they take, or even if they don't. Dumbledore's the leader, and McGonagall and Snape are both in it. I thought Flitwick was, but now I'm not sure. You can talk about the Order around me. And besides, it's not like I'm going to tell the Dark Lord, or my father, am I?'

'Look, even if Ginny's convinced that you're on our side, I'm not,' said Potter. 'And no one else will be,' he added, 'until you prove it.'

Draco clenched his fists against a boiling rage. Was this really what it would take? He looked at Ginny without knowing why.

She raised an eyebrow, and he was struck by just how pretty she was, with her mouth that particular shape, and her eyes brown and bright, and her hands on those luscious hips, oh he'd like to get his hands on them--

'Draco,' Ginny said warningly. 'If you're really on our side, then show it! Do something to help! You're father's going to kill you anyway, you say, so why not do what's right in the meantime?'

There was a very, very long pause. Draco was partly listening for footsteps or breathing behind shelves, but couldn't hear anything besides his own uncertain sigh, Ginny's huffs, and Potter's slow, measured breaths.

'Fine,' Draco finally said, not looking at either of them. The page in front of him went slightly blurry, and he blinked angrily. 'Fine. The Dark Lord is planning on sending a pack of Dementors to Hogwarts at the Quidditch Final.'

'The Quidditch Final?' said Harry.

'Dementors?' gasped Ginny.

Draco's vision cleared at once. He looked up at the two of them, the imbeciles. 'Yes, the Quidditch Final; yes, Dementors. Are you deaf?'

'You have to tell Dumbledore!' said Ginny urgently. 'Really, Draco, you _must_.'

'Why don't you two go?' Draco asked. 'It's the same information.'

'Draco--' Ginny began again, and Draco half hoped she'd promise to have sex with him if he went to Dumbledore.

'You're the Slytherin,' Potter interrupted, sounding calm and a bit smug. 'Wouldn't it be worth more coming from you? Wouldn't the same information do more for you if _you_ told Dumbledore, not us?'

Draco gaped.

'Fuck, why do you have to be right all the time, Potter?'

Potter smirked.

_tbc_


	21. Dumbledore and Snape

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Despite Potter's extremely logical and convincing argument, Draco managed to keep arguing with him and Ginny until Madam Pince kicked them out at nine o'clock. But as the library doors closed behind them, and as Draco considered the prospect of returning to the Slytherin common room as a known traitor, versus possibly gaining some kind of protection by going to Dumbledore, he found that Dumbledore's office appeared less and less forbidding.

And so, with a goodbye kiss to Ginny, during which Potter turned away with a noise of deep disgust and a 'It's good I haven't told Ron anything,' Draco set off down the corridor towards the stairs up to the seventh floor.

Draco had been in Dumbledore's office once before, in his third year, after that crazy stunt with the cloaks at the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. The hexes in Father's letter after that incident had been some of the worst ever, but Draco still didn't think it was his fault; if Potter hadn't already known the Patronus Charm, it would have worked.

Dumbledore's office hadn't changed much since then, Draco noticed as he looked around nervously: silver things on tables, the Pensieve in the cabinet, Fawkes on his perch.

As Draco seated himself in one of Dumbledore's cushy chairs, Fawkes fluttered over and landed on Draco's shoulder. Although the phoenix's talons were sharp, his weight was warm and solid, oddly comforting. Draco felt oddly honored.

'So, what is it you must to tell me so urgently that you risk being caught out after curfew, Mr Malfoy?' Dumbledore asked, looking over his half-moon spectacles.

'I--' Draco found it much more difficult to say than he'd thought it would be. He tried again, the weight of the phoenix heavy on his shoulder. 'I've decided...'

'Yes?' said Dumbledore, when Draco paused.

'Er, professor, you're sure no one can hear us in here?'

'Yes, yes, quite sure.' The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes felt like the weight of the world on Draco's soul.

Fawkes dug a talon further into Draco's flesh and let out a soft crooning noise, and Draco found himself blurting out, 'TheDarkLordisplanninganattackattheQuidditchFinal.'

'I beg your pardon?' asked Dumbledore calmly.

'The Dark Lord,' Draco repeated, as quietly as he could, 'is planning an attack during the Quidditch Final. Er, Dementors, you see.'

'Ah,' said Dumbledore.

'And, er, I've decided that I, er, don't want to be my father,' Draco mumbled.

Fawkes let out another low croon and rubbed his cheek against Draco's.

'An excellent decision, Draco! I'm very glad to hear it,' enthused Dumbledore, as if Draco had simply announced that he would be spending more time on his studies. 'Now, thank you very much for this information, and I think it's best if you spoke with Professor Snape now.'

'But Snape's a D--' Draco began.

'I assure you, Severus Snape works for the Order of the Phoenix,' said Dumbledore politely but firmly. 'While I am delighted to hear that you have made a very good decision, no doubt on account of a certain Gryffindor' -- he actually had the gall to _wink_ at Draco, who flinched -- 'I have other urgent business to attend to. Please speak with Professor Snape regarding what to do next.'

And the next thing Draco knew, he was back outside the gargoyle, mouth agape and mind a-spinning.

What on earth had just happened in there? Mind full of the too-brief conversation, Draco began slowly walking down the stairs towards Snape's office.

Why, he wondered, had Dumbledore not reacted the way Ginny and Potter both had? Dumbledore should have been shocked... as far as Draco knew, the only people who knew about the plan were the Dark Lord, his father, and Snape--

Snape. He was the answer, wasn't he?

'Ah, Draco, I've been looking for you.'

Draco looked up, startled to find he was already in the entrance hall. Lately, he realised, he'd been doing a lot of unconscious walking. Snape was addressing him from the top of the stairs leading down to the kitchens.

'Yes, Professor?' Draco asked.

'I'd like to talk with you. Would you please step into my office? Or, rather, let's go to the kitchens. I noticed you didn't eat much at dinner.'

'Er,' Draco said, wondering how on earth Dumbledore had managed to contact Snape so quickly. 'Okay.' What choice did he have? And he was hungry.

Draco crossed the entrance hall, and together they descended the short way to the kitchens. Snape tickled the pear, the portrait giggled, and they entered the cavernous kitchens.

'How are your classes going, Draco?' Snape asked after the house-elves had seen them settled at a small table off in one corner. 'As I recall, Professor McGonagall was worried about your performance in her class a little while ago.'

'Classes are fine, Professor,' Draco said, feeling very much on edge.

An uncomfortable silence fell. A house-elf scuttled up and deposited a huge tray of sandwiches. To keep from having to continue the conversation, Draco picked one up and took a huge bite.

'I understand you've been having some concerns about your father,' Snape said.

Startled, Draco nearly choked.

'I--er--yes,' he stammered, then was caught up in a coughing fit.

'You there!' Snape ordered at the nearest elf. 'Bring water.'

The elf darted across the kitchens and back in seconds with a pitcher of water.

'Dobby obeys Professor Snape,' the elf said, 'even though Dobby does not like the young Malfoy. But Dobby is a free elf and he can say what he wishes about the Malfoys, he can say that the Malfoys are evil!'

'Dobby?' Draco spluttered.

Snape handed him some water. 'Drink,' he ordered. 'Dobby, you may leave now.'

'Dobby only obeys Professor Dumbledore!' Dobby proclaimed.

Draco tossed down the water, finished coughing, and glared at the little elf.

'I'd forgotten you were here,' he said angrily. 'You keep your mouth shut about my family!'

'Dobby only speaks the truth!'

'No, Dobby doesn't,' Draco snarled. 'I am not evil, nor is my mother, so you just keep your bloody little elf mouth shut. I remember when I used to be able to kick you around, and I'm not completely out of practice, so you just watch it--'

'Draco,' Snape said quellingly. 'Leave it be.'

But the elf had raised its fists in a ridiculous stance. Draco drew his wand, intending to cast a mildly nasty hex, maybe turn its toenails inside out or give it tentacles for ears for a few hours.

Snape, however, put his own wand between Draco and the elf.

'Draco,' he repeated firmly. 'Leave it be. Dobby,' he said to the elf, 'you may not be bound to the Malfoys anymore, but it is extremely bad manners to insult someone you serve. I, too, am a master of the school, and you will obey me. You are not Dumbledore's elf, you are a Hogwarts elf. Now, _go._'

Dobby glowered, but clearly had no choice. He slunk away, still muttering.

Breathing hard, Draco lowered his wand and returned his attention to his plate. 'I hate house-elves,' he muttered.

'A necessary evil,' Snape said casually. 'Now, Draco, there was a point to me wishing to meet with you, other than letting you get enough sustenance into your stomach without worrying about your classmates' terrible behavior.'

'Yeah?' Draco said, tense.

'Your mother has sent me a letter about you.'

Draco dropped the half-eaten sandwich and rudely snatched the letter Snape was holding out to him.

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_I have just learned that Lucius is determined for Draco to follow in his footsteps in all matters, and as I had very different designs for my son's future, please send him home quickly before Lucius undertakes to do anything rash._

_Kindest Regards,_

_Narcissa_

'Oh,' said Draco. 'Er... Um. What should I do, Professor?' Why the hell was he asking _Snape_ for advice?

'Do you wish to go home, Draco?' asked Snape.

'Well, er... Not really,' he admitted, thinking of Pansy and his father and feeling nauseous.

'Then don't,' said Snape mildly. 'Hogwarts is safe enough.'

'But...' Draco was uncertain. 'Maybe I should see her...It would make her feel better...' His mother, after all, wasn't that bad.

'In that case, the Easter holidays begin at the end of this week in any case, do they not?' said Snape. 'Your mother can wait at least until then. It will be much easier to get you permission to leave the school for an official holiday, rather than during term-time.'

And that was that. Draco picked up a few extra sandwiches and wrapped them in a napkin. Though he didn't really want to leave the safety of the kitchens, he certainly didn't want to stay around for Snape to interrogate him--

'Was there anything else, Draco?' asked Snape, just as Draco stood up.

Draco hesitated. Although Dumbledore was firmly convinced that Snape was a member of the Order, Draco was not. Snape was too glib, too manipulative for Draco to trust him. But would Dumbledore tell Snape that Draco was supposed to go and talk to him? Would Dumbledore tell Snape that Draco had chosen sides? Draco was no longer sure that it had been so smart to tell the Headmaster everything. If Dumbledore trusted Snape...

'No, professor,' he finally said. 'There's nothing else.'

_tbc_


	22. Easter Hols

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

'You'll send me an owl, right?' Ginny asked.

It was Friday, and Draco was scheduled to leave by Floo from Professor Snape's office in ten minutes. The two of them were having a last snog in the broom cupboard off the entrance hall while the rest of the school had dinner.

'I'll try,' he said. 'But I doubt Mother would tolerate me sending owls to some random girl back at Hogwarts.'

'Random girl?' Ginny nearly screeched.

'I can't exactly tell her who you are,' Draco protested. 'Especially with the Pansy thing. Besides, you never know,' he joked, 'my father might have escaped Azkaban and be waiting for me at home.'

Ginny didn't smile. 'That's not funny,' she said.

'Yeah, yeah, I know, sorry,' Draco said, and kissed her gently on the forehead.

_Just lust, my foot,_ Ginny thought, but felt nice all the same. 'So you'll write? Just once, at least. You can address it to Harry or something, pretend to your mother it's cursed--'

'I'll try,' he said again. He made to open the door, but Ginny held him back.

'One more,' she said, and pulled his head down to meet his lips with hers. They'd gotten much better at kissing; certainly they'd had plenty of practice between lessons and in the evenings when both should have been studying. She slid her hands around the back of his neck and ran them down his shoulders; his hands, which had been clasping hers, stroked up her arms to her own shoulders, and then drifted almost casually down to her breasts.

In all previous snogs, Ginny had always brushed him off her breasts, with which he appeared to have an abnormal fascination. He was always staring at them, or at her hips, which she was perfectly happy to have him touch. Even her buttocks were available territory. But the breasts had always been off-limits.

Ginny knew that Draco was counting on this moment of parting to make her allow the touch, and he was right. She let out the smallest of moans as his hands rested gently on her breasts and began palming them. No one, not even Dean, had ever touched them that way. Draco knew what he was doing, it appeared (well, he was far from a virgin, and _that_ was a topic Ginny tried hard not to think about), and delicately thumbed her nipples until she wanted to keen with pleasure.

She felt a boiling, rocking liquid heat explode below her stomach and gasped. Draco was suddenly pressing his pelvis roughly against hers, and she could feel his erection against her stomach. Ginny abruptly wanted very much to be naked with him. Draco's hands, still crushed against her breasts, were trembling.

'If only we had time...' he muttered in her ear.

Ginny then heard the clock chiming. It was five o'clock.

'You have to go,' she said dully. To have been brought so high up only to break it off...

'Yes,' he said, rather solemnly. Ginny thought he looked afraid. But it was only feeble wandlight that lit the broom cupboard, so she couldn't be sure.

Then Draco gave her an irrepressible grin. 'But now you know what you're missing,' he said, licking his lips lasciviously.

The moment was broken, and Ginny punched him on the arm.

'Go on,' she said lightly. 'Go. Have a good holiday. I'll see you when you get back.'

Draco gave her a final, light kiss and left the cupboard, shutting it behind him. Ginny sank onto a crate of cleaner and sighed.

Man, she was horny now. She glanced around, picked up her wand, locked the door, and dealt with her lust in the usual fashion.

On Saturday, the results of the elections were announced: to her delight and horror, her father was now the new Minister for Magic. Along with the paper came an owl from her parents, telling her that they were moving out of the Burrow for the time being, and to send all post to the Ministry. Ginny immediately scribbled a note back with congratulations and hopes for their safety, tied it to the owl's foot, and then climbed back up to Gryffindor Tower to spend some time with her friends.

It was easy, inside Hogwarts' walls, to ignore the rest of the world. Ginny spent most of Saturday down by the lake with Charlotte and Lisa, confessing that yes, Draco Malfoy was cute and yes, he'd once kissed her in the library but no, they were not dating.

They weren't, really.

After all, they'd never sat in the stands together at a Quidditch match, or gone to Hogsmeade together. They'd only snogged in nearly every empty classroom, broom cupboard, and abandoned corridor.

Although Ginny spent most of Saturday laughing with her friends, it made her sad inside, because she felt a bit like the small gap between them that had grown up in the past few weeks had widened to the point where their friendship was a sham. It worried her, too--these girls had been her only support during her very difficult second year, and to let something as fleeting as a boy come between them was really rather unfair.

Still, nothing could disguise the fact that increasingly that week, Ginny found herself alone in the library with a couple of fat tomes on Dementors while Charlotte and Lisa painted their toenails or curled each other's hair.

It was during one of these long, dull study sessions that Harry found her.

'I thought you were revising with Ron and Hermione,' Ginny said, as Harry, looking very pale, collapsed into a chair beside her.

'I was,' he said, 'and then I fell asleep.'

Ginny snorted. 'Was Hermione reading aloud?'

'Yes, but that's not why I came. I couldn't tell Ron or Hermione, but you'd understand...'

'Why? What's wrong?'

Harry was shaking. 'I had another dream.'

She sat up straight. 'Who is it? Dad? Bill or Charlie? Harry, what's happened?'

Harry shook his head. 'No, no one in your family. Ginny, I saw _Draco_.'

Ginny gaped at him. 'You're dreaming of Draco now?' She would have laughed but for his expression. 'I take it,' she added sourly, 'that they're not lustful boy fantasies.'

'No, of course not,' said Harry in an urgent whisper. He didn't even blush. 'And it was just the one, just now... I saw... I saw Draco, and his father, and I was Voldemort... and Lucius was saying something about giving Draco over to me—to Voldemort—in exchange for something, I'm not sure what. And then Lucius started torturing him! Lucius was torturing his own son!'

Ginny's mouth had fallen open.. 'But—but I thought Lucius was still in Azkaban! They'd report it in the paper if he escaped... Dad's Minister now, he wouldn't stop the _Prophet_ from reporting...' She trailed off. 'Would he?'

Something her father had always said to her came back: _Politics is about compromise, Ginny, and I don't compromise well._ It had always explained why he'd never been promoted--that is, until now, when he was at the very top. Now, maybe, he was having to compromise, and wasn't doing it well.

'Do you think?' she asked Harry, feeling cold all over. 'Could Lucius have escaped, and my father ordered the _Prophet_ to cover up? Or maybe,' she added, trying to find a way to absolve her father of guilt, 'Dad's not the one in control of the _Prophet_... plus he's new, and maybe he hasn't had time to sort things out...'

'I just don't know,' Harry said heavily. 'But why would I see a fake vision of Lucius and Draco? Voldemort wouldn't try to tempt me away again... like he did with Sirius...'

'Maybe he thinks if it worked once it might work again,' Ginny said. 'You do have a people-saving thing.'

'Voldemort is evil, not stupid,' said Harry dismissively. 'I'm not going to go running off alone to Malfoy Manor, if that's even where the dream took place.'

'Could it just be your imagination?' Ginny asked delicately. 'Does your scar hurt?'

'That's the thing,' said Harry, 'my scar hasn't been hurting for weeks now. It's like Voldemort's suddenly shut off the connection. No more twinges of emotion or pain, and then suddenly I had that vision--'

'But does it hurt?' Ginny pressed.

'No, it doesn't,' Harry confessed. 'But it could mean anything--'

'Well, you do sort of fancy him,' Ginny said delicately. 'After all, he's quite fanciable.'

Harry glowered at her, then rolled his eyes. 'All right, all right. You think it's just a normal nightmare?'

'Yes,' Ginny said firmly. 'Especially with Hermione reading history books out loud.'

That earned her a weak grin.

'You worry about all of us, don't you?' she persisted. 'Why should Draco be any different?'

'Yeah,' Harry mumbled. 'I have these awful dreams sometimes, where Voldemort has you and Hermione and Luna and Neville—and everyone, really—and I have to watch him kill you all one by one.' He blinked. Ginny looked away for a few seconds. When Harry spoke again, his voice was quite steady. 'Maybe Draco's now in that group.'

'You want to protect him too,' Ginny suggested.

'Yeah,' Harry said thickly. 'Yeah, I guess I do.'

But no owl post from Draco came at all that week.


End file.
